


Friend Zone

by LadyJFox



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Drama, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:12:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJFox/pseuds/LadyJFox
Summary: Duo and Hilde's wedding is fast approaching but after a heartwrenching breakup, how will Trowa and Quatre get through the weekend?





	1. Chapter 1

The taxi stopped outside the scrap yard. Trowa paid the man and stepped out. With a pop of the hood, Trowa pulled out his suitcase and the even more important garment bag. The tux inside had been tailored by his adoptive older sister, Cathy, who had made sure it fit him like a glove.

She’d been slightly disappointed that he wouldn’t be taking a date, despite the invitation offering a plus one. He had immediately returned the card with the single box checked. It was six months since he and Quatre had broken up and while his rare nights at home hadn’t always been lonely, bringing a date would have been both misleading and cruel for everyone involved.

The bell to the scrap yard office jingled as he walked in. The place was small, but organized, thanks to Hilde, no doubt. He could see her black hair looking down at some paperwork at the counter. She looked up in his direction, obviously distracted until she realized who it was. Her face lit up. “Trowa!” She ran from behind the counter and pulled him into a hug. It always surprised him how little she was. He towered over her by a solid foot. “We're so grateful you took a week off to help.”

He shrugged as she let him go. “I'm glad to help. The boss has been after me to use up some of my vacation time anyway.”

Hilde tilted her head and gave him a knowing smile. “Quatre's helping Duo learn to dance in the garage bay. If you're quiet, you should be able to watch. It's actually rather entertaining.”

“Quatre’s here?” he asked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that.

“Not for long,” she replied as he walked passed her and around the back of the counter to the open the door to the garage. “His cab should be here soon.”

The garage bay was expansive, with a few large pieces of equipment docked in clearly marked areas. Trowa casually leaned against the entryway and watched as Quatre and Duo indeed danced together in one of the open bays. His eyes immediately fixed upon his ex.

As per usual, he looked the picture of a young executive in his crisp white shirt, that handsome two-toned grey vest that hugged his trim body just right, like his vests always did. Quatre had always denied it, but Trowa had always espoused a theory that Quatre was well aware of how damned sexy he looked in those vests and purposely cultivated the look.

And as much of a pain as those vests had been to tear off him, Trowa had just as equally enjoyed the visual effect they produced.  
Even with the fitted jeans he currently wore, Quatre looked like he very well could have just stepped out of the office. He had to force himself to swallow the groan that formed in his throat.

The music, soft but clear, was a current pop song with a moderately quick tempo. Nothing too fast or too slow. A solid beat for a beginner. He smiled in amusement as Duo hesitantly tried to lead while Quatre dutifully followed.

Despite a lack of confidence on Duo’s part, they weren’t all that bad. Quatre was definitely the better of the two. With his characteristic perfect posture, that straight back, shoulders down and squared, made him look like he was gliding and in complete control despite being on the following end. His lines were clean, his footwork crisp, and his hips swayed just enough to be enticing. They were working on a latin dance and he appreciated his good fortune. The corner of his mouth quirked up just a little.

He felt Hilde come up beside him. “He looks good doesn’t he?” she asked, glancing up at him. Trowa smiled, but never took his eyes off his former lover. A sad ache settled in his chest. “Quatre looks good too,” she added as an afterthought. The joke pulled a chuckle from him.

“Hey, Duo,” she called. “Orfevre is here with his shipment.”

The two broke apart with surprise. Quatre stood where he’d stopped, staring right at him, seeming stunned at his sudden appearance. His stillness contrasted with Duo’s more animated response. With a big smile, Duo hurriedly extricated himself from Quatre’s orbit. “Finally! Guy’s a day late,” Duo replied with excitement. The guy abandoned Quatre, offering a quick “Hi, Trowa!” and a playful slap on his arm as he passed by and ran out of the bay.

“Hey, Duo,” he replied automatically as Duo shot past him. He never took his eyes off Quatre.

“It’s always like Christmas come early when Orfevre brings us something,” Hilde said apologetically as she followed her soon-to-be-husband.

Her departure left him and Quatre alone in the bay. The bittersweet awkwardness was palpable between them. Quatre smiled slightly, tentative but warm. “Hi, Trowa.”

“Hi,” he replied mildly.

“You know the wedding isn't until next week, right?” Quatre asked, finally turning and making his way over to the radio.

“I could say the same to you,” he quipped. “But I’m helping them get things ready this week. They wanted to make all their regular shipments early before the wedding. In ten years I don’t think they’ve ever had to close the place down for a full week before,” he mused as Quatre turned the radio off.

“They haven’t,” Quatre answered, turning to face him and leaning his back against the long shelf the radio was sitting on and slipping both hands in his pockets. “Honestly, I’m shocked they decided to do a destination wedding in the first place.”

“San Francisco’s a good place to do it.”

“It is. September starts their festival season. They’ll enjoy themselves.”

“What’s with the dancing?” he asked. He could feel the conversation starting to die and as awkward as things may be, it felt slightly less so when they were actually saying something. Something about talking with Quatre just seemed normal and lacking the uncomfortable post-relationship vibe. He was also rather curious for his ex’s answer. He’d known Quatre could dance, another byproduct of his upbringing, but he’d never seen him actually do it. He wasn’t half bad.

Quatre’s smile grew slightly with diffidence. His blonde head dipped slightly as he looked at the floor and tapped the tip of his shoe with the heel of the other foot. It was a nervous habit of his when he got pinned with something he thought embarrassing.

“They’ve been taking classes for a good portion of the summer.” Quatre pulled his head back up and met his eyes again. “For beginners, they’re fine at the waltz, which is the big one, but the instructor went ahead and taught them some of the latin dances. Hilde actually picked it up pretty well, but Duo hasn’t quite gotten there yet. He’s fine on his own, but once he has to lead a partner…” Quatre shrugged with another smile and a roll of his eyes.

“Could be problematic.”

Quatre laughed and Trowa almost jumped out of his skin. God, that laugh. Quatre’s laughter had always reminded him of notes sung by bell chimes (probably due to his natural musicality and vocal talent) and it always, always undid him. He silently chastised himself for the reaction and hoped Quatre hadn’t noticed.

It had been six months since they’d seen or heard from each other and ever since the wedding invitation had arrived in his mailbox back in July he’d been worried about how Quatre would handle the weekend, whether things would be awkward between them. It was good to hear that laugh, so natural and light. Hearing it eased some of the concern he’d been harboring over the last several months. It seemed his fears had been exaggerated.

“Maybe a little,” Quatre agreed.

“How many dances do you know?”

“In the latin set?” Quatre’s eyes looked up as he thought about it before returning to meet his once again. “Argentine Tango, Mambo, and Cha Cha, but honestly, the latins aren’t my favorites.”

“Too sexualized?” he asked. Quatre shrugged the question aside.

“You know how I am.”

Yes he did. It wasn’t shocking Quatre felt uncomfortable performing a latin dance. The blonde bombshell of a CEO might be a tall drink of water, but he wasn’t typically inclined to cash in on it. The only thing Quatre had ever been remotely comfortable showing off was his ability to play music.

“Either way,” Quatre said as he checked his watch and pushed himself away from the shelf. “Duo’s learning the latin dances with me because Hilde’s better than he is and while Hilde would do just fine leading, Duo would fall over himself.” Quatre opened his arms in helplessness. “So, here we are…” Trowa chuckled. He could see exactly that happening.

Quatre walked up until he was right next to him and leaned over. It was then that Trowa realized he was leaning right next to Quatre’s bag and they were suddenly very close to each other. He caught the faint smell of honey and brown sugar. Quatre always smelled like sugar. He’d thought it fitting on more than one occasion and he thought it again as his ex stood within inches of him and reached toward his suitcase.

“Teach me?”

Quatre’s hand paused in the air. “Say what?” he asked, dumbfounded. Quatre blinked repeatedly as he looked up into Trowa’s eyes. He smiled. He had always enjoyed a surprised looking Quatre. Those big blue eyes of his, larger than normal. Those parted lips and that uncertain look on his face, wondering if he’d just heard that right…He had to keep himself from pulling him in close and taking command of that delicious mouth of his.

“Your cab’s not here yet,” he said. “Teach me a little.”

Quatre straightened up, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Trowa…” His voice was soft and hesitant, and the look he gave was empathetic. Despite being the one who had ended their relationship, Trowa was grasping for a piece of what they’d had and they both knew it. He knew it was an unfair request, but he couldn’t help asking it anyway.

“I’ll be alone at the table when everyone else is dancing if you don’t. It’ll look like a loser table.”

Quatre tipped his head to the side ever so slightly and gave him the same look a parent would give a child begging for another bedtime story. A tender response despite the annoyance. “You’re never gregarious with strangers and I won’t be dancing either,” Quatre replied as he reached for the bag again. “And anyway, I highly doubt Wufei knows how to mambo either.”

Trowa huffed a short laugh. Doubtful. Not only was Wufei not a partying type, but he was also a rather prickly individual to be convinced to do anything. He didn’t expect Wufei to do much of anything except make polite conversation and enjoy the wine. “Then we really will be sitting around looking like the loser table. You don’t want Duo’s head table to be the loser table, do you?”

That garnered him a chastising look. His smile got wider. Quatre glanced to the door, then back to him. “It’ll be here soon.”

“I promise I’m a quicker study than Duo.”

Quatre considered him for several moments before heading back toward the radio. “Fine,” he shot over his shoulder in mock annoyance. Trowa chuckled. It was a small win, but it would have to do. He happily watched as Quatre dug his phone out of his back pocket and synched it up to the radio. “But you’re starting off with the basics, which means a simple beat on a loop. Nothing from the radio that might change speed and throw you off.”

He positioned himself obediently in the center of the bay as Quatre turned around and approached him, looking like nothing but business. “Do I need to explain the frame to you?” he asked.

Trowa did his best to hide his amusement. “I think I got that part figured out,” he replied mildly.

“Alright, come here,” Quatre ordered with a beckoning of his hand. Trowa was more than happy to do as told. He stepped in close to Quatre who was already in position. Of course Quatre was once again the follower, placing Trowa in Duo’s position. Quatre’s hand rested on his shoulder as their hands clasped together.

His touch was light, but it sent electricity through him anyway. Being together again, even like this, for just a little bit, felt like it had when they had been dating. The familiarity, the comfort, the rightness of it...It felt so easy and so tempting to slip back into the past with Quatre. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this hadn’t quite been it. Trowa had to force himself to breathe and hope Quatre didn’t see through him.

In spite of the history and tension between them, dancing with Quatre was easier than he’d feared. Once they got going it felt like they had almost forgotten they’d fallen apart in the first place. Quatre was pleasantly surprised at how quickly he seemed to pick up the steps. Rhythm wasn’t a problem. They were both musicians, young and flexible, so enjoying the music and relaxing into it was easy. Once he’d gotten used to dancing paired with Quatre, they actually began to enjoy themselves, even as Quatre switched them back to current pop songs on the radio and increased the difficulty of the moves.

“Trowa,” Quatre said as Trowa pulled him back in from a spin. “I think you’ve done this before.”

Trowa smiled sheepishly. “I have. That last year I was in the circus, they’d hired a new gymnast. She also happened to be a dancer. She started teaching Cathy and I got my arm twisted into doing it too,” he admitted as he pulled him in close, closer than the frame warranted.

He heard Quatre’s breath catch as they pressed against each other, though neither of them moved. Trowa was lucky both his hands were currently occupied because holding some semblance of a frame was the only thing keeping the temptation to let his hands wander in check. He looked into Quatre’s wondering eyes. The guy was sporting a healthy blush and his pupils were dilated like crazy. A damning indictment of attraction.

He shouldn’t be surprised, he reminded himself. Six months wasn’t that long ago and neither of them had doubted the sincerity of their feelings for each other. Whether he’d admit it or not, Quatre had needed space. Space to concentrate on school and work, not on an oftentimes long distance relationship. Like a plant that needed water, relationships required time and commitment and those were two things Quatre had a very limited amount of.

And yet here they were and even after six months apart, their connection was still there. He still loved Quatre. It’s why he’d left in the first place and Quatre obviously still had feelings for him as well. He knew he’d be on thin ice by asking for the dance, but he hadn’t thought about unintended consequences. Caught up in the moment, he’d been selfish enough not to care.

This had been a mistake. He was crossing signals and a distraction was the last thing Quatre needed in his life right now. He dropped the frame and stepped away. “I just wanted an excuse,” he admitted quietly.

Quatre dipped his head, putting his hands in his pockets, and chuckled. “Of course you did,” he replied mildly. Quatre looked up, wearing a calculating expression. “In nearly five years together, you never mentioned you could dance.”

Trowa shrugged apologetically. “It never became relevant.” A horn honked outside. They both glanced in the direction of the sound before meeting each other’s eyes again. “You’ll be back for the rehearsal and the bachelor party?” he asked as Quatre turned away from him and made his way toward his bags.

“I’ll try, but my flight is set to come in late, around ten or eleven,” he answered over his shoulder.

“You really should,” he told him, placing his own hands in his pockets. “It would do you some good.” The taxi laid on it’s horn again.

Quatre tossed him a sad smile. “I’ll see you Friday, Trowa,” he said as he gathered his things. He paused in front of the garage bay entrance and half turned in his direction, looking him up and down. “Your lines are better than mine.”

And then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: Just because it makes an appearance in my story, does not mean I condone the actions of some of my characters. The use of illegal drugs is dangerous and a good way to end up with a drug-related charge on your permanent record. I encourage you to not indulge in dangerous activities such as the use of illegal drugs.

Quatre pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Rashid as he sunk into the backseat of his taxi. If he was lucky, he’d be home around midnight. He rubbed the back of his neck, closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and sighed. What a weekend.

Fall semester had just started a few weeks ago, meaning he wasn’t as inundated with work as he usually was. Normally, the summer and even the first couple of weeks of classes offered enough space in his schedule to actually have some downtime. With Duo’s and Hilde’s wedding coming up, he’d offered to go up to their place and drill sergeant Duo into being able to pull off a few passable dances besides the waltz. Duo had progressed decently with all the extra attention. Hilde should be pretty happy this upcoming Saturday.

But damn was it late. He’d expected it, planned for it, but he still felt dead on his feet and he had a 9:30 am conference call with his production executives tomorrow before his classes started. Today had been a long one and tomorrow would be too. It didn’t help either that he couldn’t get Trowa out of his head.

Throughout the whole twelve-hour shuttle flight from the colony to Boston’s Spaceport, his thoughts had constantly revolved around his ex. From thinking about his engineering dynamics class, his friend Thomas’ Master’s thesis topic of the business value of further exploring space, down to WEI’s last quarter fiscal reports. Nothing had been able to keep his mind from drifting back to Trowa. Even what little sleep he’d attempted to get had been punctuated by dreams and memories of him.

Quatre watched as the city lights whizzed past the window. Trowa Barton. His boyfriend for four and a half years and his friend for more than seven.

He looked away from the window and squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered him leaving. The image of Trowa standing so close to him, flanked by his suitcases all packed and ready to go as he explained himself. He felt the core of him try to collapse in on itself, shrink away from the world as his heart felt like it was shriveling like dried fruit. Quatre tried to force the memory away. It still had such an effect on him. Even now, six months later, the emotional pain was enough for him to feel the hurt physically. He doubted it would ever go away.

He’d understood Trowa’s position though. He hadn’t wanted Trowa to leave, but he didn’t blame him either. Though, how often were breakups mutual anyway? Still...He had been willing to fight for them, for their relationship.

To a certain extent his stubbornness to hold on had been unfair to Trowa. Trowa had often been gone for extended periods of time and even when he was home, Quatre himself was often so busy with work and school, they rarely had time to devote themselves to each other, to nurture their relationship. He couldn’t even remember the last date they’d had. In spite of all that, he’d been willing to stick it out, but then it wasn’t him that had been getting neglected.

In the six months, they’d been separated, his depression had worsened. It wasn’t as bad as before though and he’d been able to convince Rashid that he didn’t need to come all the way to Boston to look out for him. His meds had been adjusted and he was back to regular bi-weekly sessions with Dr. Farlan. But damn did he feel like a piece of himself was missing, like he was half of who he used to be.

To some degree, he'd been able to escape the pain by focusing on his work at both WEI and school. The distractions were helpful and his redoubled efforts in both were paying dividends. On the inside though...he felt empty, lost, and adrift. But Trowa wasn’t coming back and he had a job to do, which meant putting on a brave face. He couldn’t afford the public thinking something was wrong with him. That would cause negative business ramifications and he couldn’t allow that.

Seeing Trowa before the wedding though...He hadn’t expected that. Neither Duo nor Hilde had warned him he was going to show up. He’d known he’d have to deal with him for the wedding and Dr. Farlan had been helping him brace for that, but he hadn’t been prepared to encounter him today. The shock had nearly floored him.

The concrete floor of the machine bay had seemed like it had given away. He’d lost the ability to tell where his feet were or if he was even still standing. The effect was eerily similar to his flashbacks. But he’d never lost sight of his surroundings or lost his hearing and because of that, logic dictated that he had remained standing, so he’d rolled with that.

Thankfully, Trowa either hadn’t noticed the effect he’d had on him or he hadn’t been as obvious as he’d felt. Either way, he’d been lucky to hold himself together. It hadn’t been easy. As always, the sight of Trowa had taken his breath away.

Those jeans he always wore and that fitted, dark green sweater (no turtleneck that time though, which was fine because Trowa had a beautiful neck); that smile, so honest and inviting; and that maddeningly attractive enigmatic, cocky, cool-kid type bravado (Trowa always had been a show off), it had all reminded him of just how attractive he found him. Didn’t help that he was a genuinely great guy on the inside too.

Seeing him like that, knowing him the way he did...made the hurt that much worse.

The dancing had taken him by even more surprise than him simply showing up. He’d had to brace his nerves just to walk up to Trowa so he could reach for his bag. When Trowa had asked him to dance, he’d thought he would melt into the floor. He’d tried to say no, but in the end, saying no to Trowa simply wasn’t an option. He’d steeled himself emotionally as he’d walked away and rigged his phone up to Duo’s radio. He’d forced himself into tackling the situation as if it were business, which meant he had to be in control, of himself and the situation.

Slowly though, it had simply turned into them dancing. Just them. No tension, no arguing, no conflict. Even all the pain from their split had been forgotten in that moment.

It had been all too easy to slip back into how they’d used to be, figuring each other out, simply enjoying each other’s company. Trowa was a good dancer too. Not that that should be surprising. If his habits held, which Quatre suspected they had, Trowa still regularly practiced gymnastics. Dancing wasn’t far off from that. Guy certainly had the body for it.

The impatient taxi had shattered the moment. It had been both a relief and regret. And then Trowa had extricated himself from the frame first. He’d put his hands in his pockets, a clear regression from how he’d reached out and started the whole thing just minutes before.

Suddenly, all that post-relationship baggage had come right back. It was all he had been able to do to not break down into an emotional mess as he left.

And here he was, riding in a taxi at midnight back to his three thousand plus square foot condo...alone.

 _It’s better this way_ , the voice in his head told him. _You two were never meant to be together. It was just naivete. Displaced emotional attachments formed during the war. It’s over and you’ll both be better for it._

Quatre opened his eyes and once again watched as the city of Boston flew by. His voice might be right. It might be better, in the long run, that they weren't still together. Trowa was free to do what he wanted without Quatre’s responsibilities restricting him. Trowa would be free to date someone who could devote more time to a relationship on a more consistent basis. Trowa needed that. Deserved that.

But he was still in love with him and every day without him hurt. He couldn't go a day without thinking of something that reminded him of Trowa and every day was a struggle not to fall apart.

The car stopped in front of Millennium Tower. Quatre got out, grabbed his bag, and paid the man with a quiet “thank you”. The building was bright and welcoming as he entered the main reception area. A single service clerk and a security guard were on staff this late. He ignored them as he walked past, avoiding contact as he made his way to the elevator. The ride up felt like it took forever. All he wanted was to curl up in bed with Danny Dog and hide away from the world.

Once in his apartment, he dropped his keys in the bowl next to the door and locked up behind him. All the lights were out, though the bright cityscape of Boston down below gave off enough light for him to see by. In the distance, he heard the jingle of Danny Dog’s tags as he got down from somewhere and began padding his way over.

“Hey, Danny Dog,” he mumbled quietly, leaning down and scratching the collie’s mane of fur as he made his way to his bedroom. The force of Danny’s fierce tail wagging, caused the collie’s body to wiggle, even as he leaned against his legs. Quatre had to be careful not to trip over his large furbaby.

A loud ringing sounded from his pocket, causing him to startle a little. Digging out his phone, the caller ID listed it as Rashid. Quatre sighed. He really wasn’t up for a conversation this late. He answered it anyway. “Hey.”

Quatre had to focus on not tripping over excited Danny Dog as Rashid talked to him. It was seven in the morning in Riyadh. His day was just beginning. “Nothing’s wrong, Rashid. It's midnight. I just got home.”

_Liar._

Rashid wasn’t convinced either. Was Trowa there? Quatre winced. Guess Rashid knew him better than he’d thought. “Yeah...No, nothing ‘happened’. He showed up while I was leaving. It wasn’t an issue.”

_Liar._

Was Trowa a jerk? “Of course not! I’m fine. Listen, I need to go to bed. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

With a sluggish tap of the red button, he hung up and sighed. “What’s your mommy going to do about your daddy, huh?” he asked Danny Dog, looking down at the smiling collie. A sad smile crossed his own face as he gave the dog another pat before heading down the hall and into his room. The duffle bag dropped carelessly next to the closet as he made his way to the bed. He was too exhausted to even bother changing. He just checked to make sure his alarm was set before collapsing on top of the bed sheets and passing out with Danny curling up next to him.

***

Sunlight, or at least the man-made sunlight of the colony, filtered in through the window. The light danced across his face, teasing him awake. The smell of maple, cinnamon, and brown sugar diffused throughout the house, meandering up from the kitchen to the topmost corners upstairs.

Trowa slowly sat up in bed. It took several minutes for his groggy brain to process where he was. Duo and Hilde’s. It was Monday. They’d stayed up late last night, catching up and enjoying each other’s company, later than they probably should have. His jet lag hadn’t helped either.

He rubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wake up. The scratchy stubble along his jaw grated against his palms. Shower first, then shave. Then breakfast apparently, if there was any left.

As he showered his mind turned to the weekend and to Quatre. He’d looked good. A little hesitant and unsure, but seeing your ex after six months would do that. Overall, he’d looked good though. Confident and commanding. Full of light and still so irresistibly handsome. The Quatre he’d danced within the garage bay seemed to match the Quatre Rashid had told him about a few weeks ago.

Ever since he’d broken up with Quatre, Rashid had been kind enough to both keep him updated on Quatre’s health and inquire after his own. In the four and a half years he and Quatre had dated, he and the leader of the Maquanac Corp. had become quite close. Certainly, the big man harbored a fatherly bias in Quatre’s corner, but he knew Trowa still cared and worried about his ex. The updates helped ease his worry and the last one had been fairly positive.

The first couple of months had been concerning, Quatre had been shattered by the split. His mental health had degraded. His depression got worse. The anxiety was constant. His ability to focus on school and work had diminished. Quatre had regressed enough that Rashid had threatened to move in to keep an eye on him, but Quatre had somehow convinced his former guardian that he wasn’t in need of babysitting.

The tradeoff had been that Quatre was required to check in with Rashid at least once a day and have a session with Dr. Farlan once a week. Duo and Thomas had also kept a close eye on him. Duo and Quatre had always been extremely close since the war. He hadn’t been shocked when Rashid had told him Quatre often called (and cried) to Duo.

After that first couple of months, Quatre had gradually gotten better. He still had to check in, but the fear that he’d get worse was gone. His grades were up, his work with WEI was back to normal, and his personality was finally back to being a typical social butterfly.

And that had definitely been on display yesterday.

Trowa groaned in frustration as the hot water pelted his back. He really shouldn’t have asked Quatre to dance. The guy was just now getting back to the happy guy he naturally was. The last thing he wanted to do was to undo all the healing Quatre had done. There was a reason he hadn’t reached out to him in six months. He’d known better. He just hadn’t been able to help himself.

He finished washing and vented his frustration by forcefully turning off the water. He toweled off, shaved, and got dressed. Jeans and a battered old t-shirt, one he often used while working on his bike. Then socks and shoes and he was finally presentable.

Hilde was sliding a pile of scrambled eggs on a plate already laden down with sausage and hash browns. Orange juice and water were already on the table. “Morning,” she said with a smile as he walked over. There was only one plate.

Trowa watched her as she rinsed off the pan in the sink and loaded the dishwasher. “You guys ate already?” He felt a bit like a jerk. Sleeping in late while Hilde went through the trouble of feeding him. Sure, he was a house guest, but he was here to work, not slack off.

“Yep.” Her voice was bright and cheery.

His own demeanor was the exact opposite. He was broody and he could feel himself getting irritable. He must have been obvious because Hilde whacked him on the arm as she came up next to him. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m an early riser and Duo’s been a ball of excitement all weekend. Thankfully it’s carried over into the work week. Besides, you have plenty of reasons to sleep in.”

“I’m getting old,” he opined as he sat down in front of his food. “I never used to get jet lagged as badly as I do now.”

“I don’t think it’s the jet lag,” Hilde replied sagely. Trowa looked up at her as she came over and rested her hip against the edge of the table.

“What?”

“You didn’t sleep well last night. You tossed and turned all night.”

He’d dreamt of Quatre all night.

“How’d you know?” he asked.

Hilde shrugged. “It’s an old house and you’re not the first guest we’ve had sleep over. We know what it sounds like when someone tosses and turns in the other room. Want to talk about it?”

And now he felt like an even bigger jerk, but he ignored the question. “I didn’t keep you up, did I?”

Hilde seemed to understand. “No. Just saying you have a reason to sleep in.” She pushed off the table and gave his arm another playful whack. “Anyway, clean up when you’re done and start the dishwasher, then find Duo,” she said as she moved to join her husband in the scrap yard out back. “He mentioned wanting your help with something.”

***

Several hours later had him helping Duo take apart the remnants of a Taurus suit. Earlier in the morning Duo had started off being his chipper self, prattling on and on about his impending nuptials. It was expected. He’d be excited too, if he were in his friend’s shoes. As it was though, his own dour mood was too hard to conceal and the last few hours had passed in relative silence.

Trowa rather appreciated it, the silence and the sheer physicality of the work. It didn’t completely distract him from thinking about Quatre though. The memories, the missed opportunities of the past, and what could have been. Their own wedding they could have had…

“Incoming!”

Duo’s voice hollering at him from the other side of the suit jolted him out of his reverie. Something plastic and sloshy landed on his head and bounced off. Instinctively, Trowa held out his hands and ended up catching a water bottle. He looked up to see Duo staring at him across the suit’s torso.

“At least you used your head,” he muttered before he climbed down, disappearing behind the other side. Trowa uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. He was grateful for the water, even if Duo had chucked it at him. The climate on the colony might be temperate, but manual labor was still exhausting work.

“You alright, Trowa?” Duo asked as he walked around and came up beside him. His long-haired friend leaned against the old titanium and crossed his arms, focusing on him intently.

Trowa stared right back. “I’m fine, why?”

Duo gave him a dubious expression. “I know you’re not the most talkative guy around, but you’re still more quiet than usual. What’s up with you?”

“There’s nothing ‘up’ with me,” he replied.

Duo threw him an annoyed look. “You’re not as good a liar as you seem to think you are,” he said. “It’s Quatre, isn’t it?”

Trowa threw him a warning look. “I’m fine. Drop the subject.” Ignoring Duo, he went back to work.

“You’re acting all angsty like a teenager, you know that?”

He stopped what he was doing and with a frustrated sigh looked back at Duo. Only Duo was walking back around to the other side of the suit. All he caught was Duo’s trademark braid disappearing behind the large hunk of alloy. Pushing Duo’s snarky comment aside, he once again focused on the task at hand.

“Just like that whole time before you finally made your intentions known with that movie-star kiss of yours on Pier One.”

He paused again in exasperation. After dropping his tools on the ground, he looked at Duo over the top of the suit, resting his forearms on the metal sitting between them. “Duo.”

Duo’s head popped up from the other side. The guy gave him a withering glare, one he wasn’t used to seeing from the typically happy-go-lucky guy. “You’re broody, Trowa. Not just quiet. You saw Quatre for the first time in six months yesterday and Rashid called me this morning, before you joined us in the waking world, and said Quatre’s the same way. So don’t tell me it’s not about him.”

That dropped a brick on his heart. “What’s your point, Duo?”

“My point is that you’re an idiot. You both obviously still care for each other and I mean _maddeningly_ obvious. It just seems like you’re putting the both of you through hell for no reason.”

Trowa huffed in frustration. He’d thought they’d hashed all this out months ago. “There’s a damn good reason. Six months ago he was killing himself trying to balance everything. His grades were falling, he couldn’t keep up with his WEI workload, and, to be honest, we were already starting to fall apart.”

He saw the sympathy on Duo’s face. In the first couple of months after his breakup with Quatre, Duo had evolved into something of a pseudo-therapist to both Quatre and himself, hearing both sides of the situation.

Neither Heero nor Wufei had waded in to take sides in the aftermath of the split, though it was his best friend, Heero, who was most often his first call - or second, if he’d called Cathy - when he was having a tough time of it. But if he wanted to check in on Quatre...That was Duo’s area of expertise. The guy often acted as an intermediary, like Rashid, when he felt the need to check in on his ex. Duo had become, in a way, the Switzerland of friends.

“His grades are back to normal. He’s on top of WEI again and he doesn’t have to worry about whether I’m getting enough attention. And that’s a big load off his shoulders.”

“He’s miserable without you,” Duo countered.

“He was miserable before!” he argued back. “At least now he can focus, now that he’s not being pulled in so many directions.”

Duo gave him a scolding expression and Trowa sighed. He felt like an idiot. Like he was whining on some stupid housewife morning show. He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across the back of his head in frustration. “He’s crazy smart, Duo.” Literally. “You know that. He’s the smartest guy I know. He could be the next Nikola Tesla, or Larry Page or ...or even Johann Valsberg, but he needs to get through school first.”

“I really don’t think our little genius is going to be revolutionizing colony engineering. Valberg's pretty much got that in the bag, but I get your point.”

Trowa looked down at the ground. “He was destroying himself, Duo. I couldn’t let him do that.” He shook his head and sighed. Damn, he was such a lovesick puppy. He pulled his head back up, meeting Duo’s eyes with his own. Again, he saw sympathy there. “And you know damn well he would have kept at it until he gave himself a heart attack. Even then, he’d go right back at it. Damn, stubborn...” He dropped his eyes back down to the ground, distractedly kicking his foot against the dead metal they were both leaning on. “Anyway,” he said dejectedly. “It was a logical decision.”

“But maybe not the right one,” Duo offered gently.

Trowa’s head jerked up. Duo was still leaning against the suit, head resting on arms that were crossed on top of the machine. His face was open and honest.

“I would argue otherwise…” he started to say, but Duo cut him off.

“Forget about the grades, Trowa, and the job. Those are just _things_. Quatre’s never needed _things_.”

Well, that was true. Quatre was a romantic. Quatre enjoyed the perks of his social status, certainly, but he’d abandon it all in an instant. “What’s your poi…”

“Yesterday.”

He sighed and scratched the back of his head, looking off to the side in avoidance. Should have known he’d come around to that. “I was just…”

“Reaching for what you had before.” There was no malice or judgment in Duo’s voice. Just the gentle handling of a friend trying to help a friend. He looked back to Duo.

“I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Duo replied sagely. Hilde was wearing off on him. “Not if you’re serious about splitting up, anyway.”

Trowa looked back down at the ground. Duo had the same tone in his voice Rashid used on Quatre whenever he asked for advice from the big man...and even sometimes when he didn’t ask. Trowa looked back up and made a helpless motion with his hands. “I saw him and I just...caved.”

“You guys have been suckers for each other from the beginning.” Trowa threw him an annoyed glance. “Want my advice?”

“Will it be helpful?” he asked dryly. Duo seemed to let the snark slide.

“Don’t worry about his work. The guy’s a savant. Professionally, he’ll be fine. Do what you think is best, but don’t play games. Make up your mind and stick to it.” Duo shrugged. “Or throw caution to the wind and let Quatre lead, though we all know how that’ll end.”

Yep. Definitely helpful.

Without replying to that, he moved to start working again. “Your heart knows what it wants, Trowa,” Duo called over to him from the other side. “Everything else is secondary.”

Trowa sighed. Definitely not helpful.

***

Quatre hung up the conference call with a ‘thank you’ and a self-satisfied ‘click’. He looked at his watch. 11:16. Fabulous. Got done a little early. He rubbed his face with his hands in an attempt to produce energy. Not a bad record, as far as conference calls went. Especially since he hadn’t gotten any sleep.

He’d passed out as soon as he’d hit the mattress. He knew that, but he’d kept waking up. The dreams were awful, a mixture between missing Trowa and nightmares of both the Eurussian Incident and the War of 195. Quatre shook his head as he remembered all the times he’d woken during the night in a cold sweat. It had been a long time since he’d had nightmares like that, especially with such frequency.

So here he was, still exhausted, starting another day. _Oh well_ , he thought to himself. _At least I have time to stop by the cafe before class._

Quatre pushed himself up from his chair and walked into his bedroom where he’d left his messenger bag with his school stuff. After making sure he had everything he needed, he put his motorbike boots and jacket on. He was wearing jeans today and one of his indie rock t-shirts. A decidedly dressed-down look.

It might be a reaction to seeing Trowa yesterday, but he just felt like riding the bike today and if he was going to ride the bike, he wasn’t about to dress like a preppy kid. He didn’t think they went well together and he liked it when things matched. Trowa had always teased him about that.

He made sure Danny Dog had some food and water before swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbing his helmet from the closet by the door. Quatre checked his school email on his phone while he rode the elevator down. When he stepped out he almost walked right into Phil, the security guard. “Sorry, Phil.”

Always a chipper guy, Phil smiled at him. “That’s alright, Mr. Winner. You’re certainly in a hurry. That why you’re riding that bike of yours today? Trying to beat traffic?”

Quatre gave him a small smile. Phil was a staple of the building, good at his job and always a treat while doing it. “Not really. Just felt like it today.” _Nope! Just acting out like a rebellious teenager. At least you’re not going off to blow up another colony this time...or try to kill your ex...again._

Quatre closed his eyes. Stupid voice. _Been right so far._

“You alright, Mr. Winner?”

He opened his eyes. They’d both stopped walking and Phil was looking at him with concern. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He started walking again, making his way towards the other elevator that would take him to the underground garage. Phil walked beside him. “Going to lunch?”

“Yes, sir. The missus wants to meet at our favorite diner today.” Phil punched a button as they entered the elevator.

“You get that woman pregnant yet?”

Phil chuckled. They had three already and they wanted one more. “Not yet, sir. Not yet.”

“You better hurry,” Quatre warned him. “Or she’s bound to get mad at you.”

Phil’s chuckle turned into a laugh. “She’s already mad at me, sir. She wanted twins last time. A boy and a girl. One of each flavor she said. Lady seems to think you can just order them up like scoops on an ice cream cone.”

In spite of his mood, Quatre laughed. “You have, what? Three already?”

“All girls, sir. Leila, Chloe, and Daisy. Four, three and one.”

“And you really want another?”

“Coming from you, sir?” Phil asked while throwing him a rather impish grin.

Ouch. He had to concede the high ground there. “Touche.” Phil laughed.

The elevator dinged and they stepped out into the garage. Quatre pulled his leather gloves on as they paused and faced each other for a moment. Phil shrugged. “Wife wants a boy,” he explained. “And then she done and got some crazy idea in her head that she wanted twins.”

Quatre smiled. “Well, you have a fifty-three percent chance.” He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as he started to walk toward his bike and away from Phil. “Good luck, Abu el Banat,” he called over his shoulder.

Phil smiled and yelled at him. “How do you know that?”

He paused, turned around, and shrugged. “I have twenty-nine older sisters. I looked up the percentages a while back. Not that it really matters. Barring a weird mutation, you still have only one of two options, so either way, you’re looking at a basic fifty-fifty chance each time, but statistical gender trends give you an extra three-point bump. So you’re good.”

Phil chuckled and shook his head as they walked in opposite directions. “Mr. Winner?” Quatre turned around again and started walking backward.

“Yeah?”

“What does that mean? That thing you said?”

“Abu el Banat? It means Father of Daughters.” He smiled. “Father’s business associates from Saudi Arabia used to call him that.”

Phil laughed before turning his back to him and walking away.

In spite of his dour mood the previous night, he just couldn’t help but smile at Phil and the way he talked about his wife, Marietta. Those two were made for each other. They had a loving household, and a busy one, apparently. Three children, he could only imagine, would be a handful. To ask for more? Whew. The very thought made him dizzy.

His thoughts turned to his own family as he made his own way over to his motorcycle. Iria had told him once that Father, though always strict and holding high expectations of all his children, had been much more flexible to the whims of his children in the years before Mother got sick. According to her, after she died he’d lost the part of himself that appreciated rebelliousness. It explained a lot.

Father had always wanted a son, though probably a much more obedient one.

Plenty of his sisters had been known to test Father’s patience over the years, but none seemed to have had a relationship as tumultuous with their father as him. Even now, he harbored the theory that Father blamed him for her death, if only subconsciously. A disease had killed her. Some type of super flu. How that was the fault of his simple existence, he couldn’t quite guess. It sounded ridiculous, even to him, but he’d just never been able to shake the thought.

Twenty-nine sisters. Quatre shook his head. That number still sounded crazy. Father must have spent a rather sizeable fortune on surrogates and nannies over the years.

Quatre put a hand on one of the handlebars and paused. Nannies. Children. Twins. One of each flavor.

He rubbed a thumb across the grip. He knew he’d wanted kids too. The concept of raising and cultivating an individual, seeing them grow up and become their own selves just seemed challenging, exciting, and completely natural. That and babies were just so damn adorable. Rashid and never talked children with him, but he’d always had that knowing look on his face when he'd taken an interest in the children of some of the Maguanacs. His old friend and confidante probably knew he harbored the desire the have kids someday. Rashid always seemed to know him.

Truth be told, he’d always thought he and Trowa would make good parents together. They had never talked about it though. Hadn't even talked about marriage. He’d been too busy focusing on work and school to even consider discussing either just yet. But he did want kids. He’d also expected to marry Trowa….eventually.

But none of that mattered now.

He closed his eyes tight as a wave of pain swept over him. His heart felt like someone was gutting it with a carving spoon. Of course, he’d had to think of Trowa. Nothing he did could stop him from thinking about him. Everything turned into what Trowa would have thought, would have liked, would have said. Even gone, Trowa still permeated his everyday existence.

 _Stop feeling sorry for yourself_ , the voice in his head told him. _You have things to do. Thomas might even join you at the cafe if you ask._ Thomas. His closest friend from high school had also joined him in pursuing both his bachelor’s and his master’s degrees at MIT. Thomas, his closest friend who didn’t know his history as a Gundam pilot, had been an invaluable shoulder to lean on over the last six months.

And he’d be on campus. Probably looking for some lunch too.

He opened his eyes and pulled out his phone. With a deep breath, he sent off a quick text before zipping it away in a secure pocket. He sighed, trying to push down the heartache that threatened to sweep him away. For a moment he considered simply hiding away up in his condo until class started, waiting until the last minute to leave the safe confines of his home. But that was the depression talking nor was hiding helpful and he was already down here. It would be silly to go backward.

With a firm shove, Quatre put his helmet on and started the engine. Two hundred horses roared to life beneath him. He revved the engine and sped away.

***  
Quatre throttled down the bike and gently coasted into a parking space at Common Grounds, the local indie coffee shop on the corner of Mass. Ave. and Albany St., just off MIT’s campus. Typically, the appreciative stares and second glances he would receive over his bike would put a smile on his face. It really was a great piece of engineering and he was damn proud of it too.

The Kawasaki Ninja H2 Carbon had a four-cylinder, supercharged engine, a 1,000 cc displacement, the latest Ohlins suspension system, and a six-speed transmission. It was still, to this day, the only supercharged production bike on the market that was also street legal.

Straight off the production line, it came in charcoal black and Kawasaki lime green, much like Trowa’s old bike. Soon after purchasing it, however, he’d taken it in for a custom paint job. It might have looked like an aptly named ninja-esque badass before, but now its main color was white, with accents of ink black and canary yellow. A private homage to his original Gundam Sandrock. The special silver-mirror paint made it shine like glass.

Bright, flashy, and fast, she was white lightning on the road.

Turning off the ignition and stepping off the bike, however, he was oblivious to the admiring onlookers.

He pulled off his helmet as he entered the shop and subconsciously ran his hand through his hair. Isa, a fellow master's student at MIT, was working behind the counter. “’As-salaam ‘alaikum, Quatre.” His clear voice brought him out of his own hazy thoughts.

Tall, thin, with frameless glasses, close-cut hair, a short beard, and a perpetually contemplative expression on his face, Isa looked like the intellectual that he was. Anyone who knew him, from the coffee shop or elsewhere, would tell you that him studying physics, along with linguistics and philosophy, wasn't surprising. Quatre himself highly suspected the guy would end up graduating with at least two doctorates.

“Alaykum as-salaam, Isa. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Are you getting enough sleep? You look tired.” Isa spoke in Farsi.

He had originally met Isa right here in this coffee shop a year and a half ago. The Iranian had been working while Quatre had been on the phone with Rashid, speaking Arabic. Isa’s curiosity had been piqued and, after hanging up with Rashid, Isa had introduced himself.

The young man’s intelligence, his deliberate way of speaking, and his convergence of scientific logic with religion and philosophy had been of pointed interest to him. And just like that, they’d become friends.

Despite a solidly diverse student body, Quatre had been the first person Isa had met who was as fluent in the man’s native tongue as he was himself. Rather quickly, they had fallen into the habit of automatically conversing with each other in Farsi, though they also occasionally spoke Arabic as well, as a way to expand Isa’s abilities there.

Quatre huffed a small laugh. “You could say that. Which is why I need caffeine.”

“Black tea?”

“Yes, please. And a turkey and swiss on rye.”

“Don’t work too hard, my friend. Your mind and body are not machines like those you work on.” Isa warned as he rang up his order and took his money. Quatre threw him a thankful look before walking down to pick up his order.

A sharp whistle caused him to jerk his head up. “Kit Kat!”

A tall, slender guy with close-cropped, curly brown hair, long, sharp nose, and a handsomely angular face was staring at him. Thomas. Another guy, average height, average build, sandy blonde hair, and green eyes sat next to him. Dressed preppy, business casual. Blane Sommers. A fellow master’s student in the business department. The guy was a good study partner and a decent individual. Guy hung out with Thomas more often than with him. Then again, Quatre didn’t get out much socially. For a while, he’d had thought them a couple, though Thomas insisted they weren’t.

Quatre walked over and took a seat across the table from them.

“Shit man, you look terrible,” Thomas said as he sat down. Quatre glared at him, shooting daggers with his eyes.

Blane chuckled. “You do look rough, Quatre. You alright?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Quatre offered.

He caught the knowing looks Thomas and Blane exchanged as he settled into eating his sandwich. He tried to ignore it. He knew they were simply concerned, but it rankled him all the same. He wasn’t _that_ fragile. He wasn’t going to break just because he was having a rough day.

“Want to talk about it?” Thomas asked tentatively. Quatre shook his head.

“I’ll be fine.” He could feel Thomas’ frown.

“Was it Trowa?”

Quatre paused and fixed him with a look that was meant to get him to drop the subject. He didn’t.

“What did he do?”

Quatre sighed. Heero, Duo, and Wufei had all remained deliberately neutral during the whole breakup process. A fact he, and he was sure Trowa, appreciated. Rashid, though understanding and still on pleasant speaking terms with Trowa, was inherently biased in his corner over the whole thing, where Rashid recognized both sides of the coin, Thomas had evolved into protective friend 2.0 and had placed Trowa square in the “enemy” category.

“He didn’t _do_ anything.” He really didn’t want to have this conversation. “He just showed up at Duo’s while I was waiting for my taxi. End of story.” Thomas set him down with a stare that indicated he didn’t believe him one bit. Blane looked between the two of them, looking both equal parts amused and awkward, being in the middle of what was looking to turn into a fight.

“Bullshit. You guys haven’t even talked to each other since he left. I may not know him like you do, but I know he wouldn’t have done nothing.”

Quatre met Thomas’ hard look with one of his own. “He’s not the enemy, Thomas. He’s a good guy.”

Thomas continued to glare at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been subject to that look after defending Trowa. “Quatre,” he pushed. “Remember what Dr. Farlan keeps telling you. The more you ignore things the worse they…”

“Fine!” He said, his voice raised louder than he’d intended.

Their corner of the coffee shop suddenly became quiet and Quatre, back to staring at his tea, was sure shocked and curious faces were staring at them. He dropped his voice back down to a more conservative level. “We danced alright. Are you happy? I was helping Duo since Hilde’s better at it than he is and they had to take care of an order that came in and while I was waiting for the taxi…”

He trailed off as he remembered the other day. His throat constricted and his heart once again dropped into the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and massaged the side of his head with his fingers. He wanted to hide away from the world. Curl up in his bed or in the corner of his room, under one of his heavy blankets. He didn’t want to deal with people and he certainly didn’t want to talk about Trowa.

He opened his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Thomas’ gaze or Blane’s. Instead, he opted to stare at his half-eaten sandwich. “While waiting for the taxi, he asked me to dance.”

“And you said yes.”

Quatre couldn’t see the look on his friend’s face, but the words were soft and sympathetic. At least he’d stopped being a dick. “Of course I did,” he replied meekly.

“Of course you did.” Quatre winced at that. “You don't have to go, you know.”

Quatre pointedly avoided meeting Thomas’ eyes. Instead, he wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic of his teacup. “Of course I do. I’m in the wedding party.”

“But if you're having such a rough time…” Blane said tentatively. Quatre could hear the skepticism in his voice.

“I want to go,” he said into his tea, hunching over it as if its warmth would protect him. “Duo and I are really close. I'm not missing it for anything.”

“Will you be alright?” Thomas asked.

In spite of himself, Quatre’s mouth quirked up briefly. Thomas was a good friend, if somewhat overprotective lately. “I’ll be fine,” he told him, glancing up and meeting Thomas’ eyes with his.

Would he be fine? It certainly didn’t feel like it. Eventually, though? He still wasn’t sure.

“Have you called Dr. Farlan yet?” he asked. Quatre was grateful for the move to slightly more neutral territory.

“Not yet. I will though. Just haven’t had time yet.”

There was no response from either of his friends, causing him to pull eyes away from his tea. Both guys were staring at him with unamused expressions. “What?” he asked in mild frustration. “I can do it after Dynamics.” Thomas considered him skeptically for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing the truthfulness of his statement, which annoyed him more than a little. “Do you seriously think I won’t?” he asked.

“You waited two weeks to call her after he left you.”

“She was on vacation, Thomas. I’m not calling her while she’s on vacation.”

Thomas was quick to counter, his own frustration boiling over. “You could have talked to someone else in the interim. You were an absolute wreck, not even for those two weeks, but that whole damn month you had us all really worried.”

Quatre went back to staring at his tea. Thomas wasn’t entirely wrong, but he _was_ wrong about one thing. He couldn’t talk to anyone. Only Dr. Farlan. She was the only one in that practice who had enough security clearance to treat him, a former Gundam pilot. Thomas couldn’t know that. No one could know that.

“I’ll be fine,” he said again. “I’ll call her after Dynamics.”

He could feel Thomas’ eyes still boring into him, so he looked back up. Thomas seemed resigned to accept his word for it. Thomas glanced at his watch and stood up. “You really are a cat.”

Quatre watched him in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I gotta go,” Thomas said as he extricated himself from the table and started to walk away. Thomas paused next to him. He looked up as Thomas stared down at him. “Text me?”

“Yeah.”

Thomas gently slapped the back of his shoulder and left the shop. Quatre stared after him as his friend left.

“He really cares about you, you know that?” Blane asked.

“I know,” he replied quietly, facing forward again.

Blane looked at him skeptically. “Do you really?”

Quatre tilted his head as he considered Blane. What was _that_ supposed to mean? Of course, Thomas cared. He was one of his closest friends. “What are you getting at? And why, exactly, am I a cat?”

“Nevermind,” Blane said.

“Blane!” Quatre said in frustration. Why did he feel like everyone already knew something he didn’t.

“You _are_ a cat,” Blane said with a sigh. “You’re stubborn and even though you wear your emotions on your sleeve most of the time, you’ve gotten pretty good at hiding some of it. You put on a brave face. Thomas is on the mark there. Dude has your number to a tee.”

Quatre dropped his gaze back down to his tea. He couldn’t argue that.

“Anyway, if you know you’re going to have a rough time, can’t you increase your meds?”

Quatre shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. Adjusting meds is tricky and new levels require time to get used to.”

“So not a quick fix?”

Quatre shook his head again. He was tired and just wanted to take a nap. He needed a nap. Not that he had time for one. What he should be doing is working ahead in his classes. Staying ahead of the game, little by little was how he survived. He couldn’t afford to fall behind, even with a special event weekend.

“You know,” Blane said hesitantly. “There are other options.”

Quatre met the guy’s eyes as his own peeked out from behind his long bangs. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously. He didn’t know what Blane was getting at and he got the feeling he shouldn’t know.

Blane fidgeted in his seat, which was unusual. Blane was your stereotypical business student. Confident, bold, social, charming. Even though the guy wasn’t his type, Quatre would even go so far as to say Blane was handsome, in a guy-next-door kind of way. But this Blane felt out of place. He’d never seen the guy fidget before.

“You could always take MDMA.”

Quatre stared at Blane for what felt like ages, long enough that his eyes began to dry out. Quatre blinked. “You mean Ecstasy?” What the hell was Blane talking about that for? It was still illegal outside therapeutic uses and even then it was only used to treat the most extreme forms of PTSD. Even at the beginning of his treatment, he’d wanted to stay away from that stuff.

“Same thing.”

“Blane...It’s illegal.”

“Quatre, it works. You’ll never feel as good as you do when you take it.”

Quatre’s eyes went wide in shock. He would never have thought Blane would do something as idiotic as taking illicit drugs, but that was exactly what it sounded like he’d just said. “You took it? When?”

“A few times,” Blane admitted with a shrug. “Several of the business program students took some at our bachelor’s graduation party.” Quatre stared at Blane as if he’d just grown two heads. “Which you would have known,” Blane added pointing a finger at him, “if you allowed yourself to have a social life.”

“I don’t think anyone should really be saying ‘go party and take drugs’.”

“That’s not how I meant it and you know it. Don’t be a dick.”

Quatre bit back the snarky remark that formed in his head. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, though the glare he laid down on Blane openly showed his displeasure. Blane gave him an understanding look and sighed.

“The point I’m trying to make, Quatre, is that you’re willingly walking into a situation that you know will hit you hard. It might not be anyone’s fault. Trowa might act like a stand-up guy…” Quatre opened his mouth to say something, but Blane wasn’t about to let him have an inch. “BUT, you’re still not over him and you’re not going to handle it well. You’re not handling it well now.”

Quatre dropped his eyes to the table. He couldn’t argue against the truth of that statement. Blane sighed. “If you’re going to go through with the weekend, at least stack the odds in your favor. MDMA can help you get through the worst of it.”

Quatre looked back up at Blane. The look on his face must have been obviously skeptical because his friend was quick to elaborate. “The pure stuff isn’t addictive if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s the cheaper, mass-market stuff that gets watered down with addictive fillers where you have trouble.”

“You realize that that’s not a comforting sell, right?”

Blane shot him an annoyed look. “I’m serious. I have a guy who deals in the therapy grade, pure stuff. Hundred and fifty milligrams, pure MDMA for fifty bucks a pop. It’s a pill, so if you want less than that, just cut one in half. You don’t have to get crazy high off it. A half should keep your feet solidly on the ground, so to speak, but the weekend will be much easier to deal with. I can guarantee you that.”

“Because that doesn’t sound shady at all,” he said quietly. His brain buzzed. He wasn’t entirely sure they were actually having this conversation or if he was having a really weird dream.

“Look,” Blane said. “I’m not going to convince you to do anything. Certainly not something you don’t want to do. Take it or not. It’s completely up to you. You just seem like you’re really in a bind for something to help you get through the weekend. With MDMA, you won’t just get through the weekend, you’ll actually enjoy it.”

Blane stood up and got ready to leave. “Just think about it. I can talk to my guy and have him set aside some of the top shelf stuff for you, but I’ll need a heads up by Wednesday if you want it, alright?”

Blane left, leaving him to sit at the table alone. He wasn’t quite sure he was awake. He had to still be dreaming. Blane had seriously just laid down a solid pitch for illegal drug use.

He looked about the coffee shop. Frequented by university students from both Harvard, MIT, and Boston College, he saw a lot of couples. Quite a few third or fourth wheels too, ranging from appearing obviously awkward in their current situation or amused, being genuinely pleased with the adorableness their couple-y friends exhibited.

It was September in Boston. The air was getting chilly and brisk, though the days were still warm enough to be pleasant and enjoyable. Local coffee shops like this one were an ideal hangout for couples and students to cuddle and discuss the merits of the law, art, engineering, and life itself.

Quatre’s heart once again reminded him that his better half was missing. Subconsciously, he rubbed his hand over his heart. Maybe there was some justification to Blane’s proposal. After years of scientific study, the FDA had finally come to the conclusion that pure, therapeutic grade MDMA was not harmful when used properly as prescribed by a doctor.

Recreational use, however, was still illegal.

The alarm on his phone went off, causing him to jump in surprise. Quatre shut off the alarm and got up from the table. He threw away his half-eaten sandwich and returned the teacup before yanking his helmet back over his head.

Time to go to school.


	3. Chapter 3

WAH! WHA! WHA!

A large blue eye flew open in surprise and then drifted partially closed in a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. With an aggravated slap, the thing was silenced. Quatre rolled over, disappearing under the warm, safe confines of his comforter.

He’d hardly slept last night...again. Ever since he’d gotten back from the colony he’d hardly been able to sleep. His mind was constantly racing and the pain in his heart hurt to the point of nearly crippling him. His dreams were constantly a terrifying mixture of fighting against the Mercurius and the Vayeate when he piloted Wing Zero, and the Eurussian Incident, with that Monstrosity suit and his subsequent torture at the hands of Kozlov.

His depression was worsening too. It was becoming more and more difficult to pull himself out of bed every day. A couple days ago his brain had stopped absorbing his lectures. Thankfully, his pre-emptive work and understanding classmates had so far been able to make up the difference. But that buffer would only last so long.

Quatre had rarely doubted his abilities before the depression and anxiety. Even now, the negative side effects of his PTSD were typically controlled by medication, but since he’d gotten back from Duo’s he was a mess. His meds needed adjusting. He knew that. He’d called Dr. Farlan again yesterday, telling her just how bad he’d gotten. He wasn’t suicidal, so at least there wasn’t any immediate alarm. She’d gone and set him up with an appointment for next week.

Until then though...he was on his own and that was not going well.

As it was, his days had turned into quiet, introspective self-contemplation, dissecting whether or not he was worthy. Worthy of _what_ didn’t matter. Everything and anything had become subject to the utmost scrutiny.

Was he worthy of being at MIT? Was he worthy of getting his Bachelor’s last spring? Should he really be going for his Master’s? And being the CEO of a company like WEI? How the hell did he ever expect to be able to pull that off?

He was a Gundam pilot. And he was the weakest. Sure, Master H had trained him well, but then again, he’d always tested well in school. Practical application, however? He’d gotten the job done, but so many mistakes had been made because of bad decisions he had made. Mistakes that couldn’t be rectified, no matter how hard he might try.

And still, the others had followed him. Heero, Duo, Wufei, and even Trowa. After everything he’d done, Trowa had blindly followed him back into battle. And somewhere along the way, Trowa had fallen in love with him too. That had been Trowa’s own mistake. He was a workaholic and a mental trainwreck. Trowa deserved so much better than that. He deserved someone who had time to put into cultivating a relationship. He deserved someone who hadn’t tried to kill him.

He, on the other hand, didn’t deserve any of it.

He hadn’t deserved to lead them in their fight against the White Fang. Heero should have done it. Heero was steady, always focused, like a compass. He didn’t deserve to lead the Maguanacs. Surprisingly, he’d let them down significantly less than he’d disappointed Trowa. But following a mentally unstable teenager? Bad idea. They’d gotten lucky there.

Was he worthy of his friends? He lied to them. Every single day, he lied to them. They didn’t know who he was. Not really anyway. He had to bury that part of him. All the things he knew, had opinions on: politics, engineering, math, science, human nature, trauma, everything was influenced by his experiences during the war. They couldn’t possibly know that. They couldn’t ever understand what he’d been through.

He’d killed people.

And not just some soldiers he’d fought against. No, he’d destroyed a whole natural resource satellite. And a colony. A civilian colony. He’d almost destroyed another before Heero and Trowa had stopped him. Who knew how long his rampage would have lasted? He was a murderer.

He didn’t deserve to be alive.

He didn’t deserve to live this comfortable, privileged life that was his. Heero should have killed him during the incident with Wing Zero. Heero should have led the others against OZ and the White Fang.

He heard the door to the bedroom creaked open and the soft pat-pat as Danny Dog ambled in. Dog was probably wanting breakfast. Danny jumped up onto the bed, forcing him to let out an involuntary “Oof!” as he landed right on top of him.

He tried to go back to sleep, but Danny Dog pawed at the covers. Groggily, Quatre lifted the corner up and after much rustling around and getting stepped on, Danny was under the blankets with him, his tail thumping contentedly against the mattress.

Quatre spooned his collie, wrapping his arms around his beloved dog and burying his face in his long, silky fur. Danny Dog was always there for him, with that big collie smile. His dog was his comfort and his reason to get out of bed every morning.

Trowa had surprised Quatre on his eighteenth birthday by gifting him the collie puppy. Together they had named him Danny Dog and trained him to be a service/therapy animal. Mostly, Danny Dog provided emotional comfort, but he could also bring him his medication, could prevent people from crowding him if his anxiety flared up and he needed space, and could even occasionally pull him out of his flashbacks, which typically caused his sensory perceptions to stop functioning, throwing him into complete and utter darkness.

Danny Dog was vital to his ability to function on his own, without Rashid or anyone else babysitting him. But he was also a constant reminder of Trowa.

He closed his eyes tight as a wave of heartache and helplessness ripped through him. He felt like his insides were crumbling, like brick and mortar being destroyed by a wrecking ball. His heart hurt and he doubted if he’d ever stop feeling empty on the inside.

And then a brief wave of anger rolled over him.

Damn Kozlov. Fucking Russian had obliterated his ability to function like a normal person. In the beginning, they’d all hoped his PTSD would be short-term, but after a year of consistent treatment, that hope had been erased, leaving him with the permanent reality of his new normal.

He heard the gunshot. He squeezed Danny tighter. _Not again. Please not again._ He remembered the feeling of that first bullet whipping him around with the force of a zip line. He remembered the feel of the cold concrete floor against his back as he struggled to breathe.

_Go away. It’s just a bad memory. I’m not there anymore._

He felt the ghost of Kozlov press his gun against his cheek. It felt cold, even if it wasn’t real. He buried his face deeper against Danny Dog’s mane of fur, but it didn’t go away. He remembered Kozlov pushing his head to the side with his gun. How the Russian had enjoyed it as he dragged the muzzle down along his jaw until it pressed under his chin. How he’d forced his head up and back.

“What a pretty little thing you are.”

Kozlov’s words whispered in his ear as if the guy wasn’t six years dead. Those words would be forever etched into his soul along with that hint of sexual desire simmering within that homophobic psychopath.

Quatre shuddered in fear and repulsion. Those words had terrified him that day. He’d truly believed Kozlov had been about to rape him in that garage. All that pent-up aggression, looking for an outlet to prove his power and control amid the continuing failure of their insurrection.

_Please stop._

But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop his body as it trembled uncontrollably. Couldn’t stop from crying, tears running down his face as he squeezed his eyes tight against a memory that was more than just a memory. And he couldn’t stop it from pulling him back there.

Kozlov slowly dragged the metal of his gun back along his jaw and down his neck and pressed into his jugular. The hole in his chest was burning with a blazing intensity. Suddenly he was dizzy and weak. He fought to stay conscious. And then Kozlov was stabbing his wound with his gun. The pain flared throughout his body like electricity rushing along a metal conduit. He screamed.

Eventually, the pain subsided. He wasn’t sure if he’d lost consciousness or not, but his whole body was trembling. Kozlov was once again dragging his gun down his body. “What I hate more than gays,” he said in his clipped accent. His voice was lazy and appreciative like he was enjoying the pain he was inflicting. “Is one that steals my mobile suit.”

Fear rushed through him as his hazy mind processed what was about to happen. Another loud clap sounded throughout the garage as Kozlov discharged a second bullet through his body, this time in his abdomen. His scream forced out what air was left in his damaged lung. The fire of the bullet tearing through his flesh radiated throughout his body. It felt like it lasted forever, even as the bullet itself tore through him in less than a second.

His body shuddered uncontrollably as he gasped for breath. It was becoming more and more difficult to pull air into his lung. Even though he knew he was pulling air in, he could barely catch his breath. If his lungs failed, his heart would fail. And that would be the end.

As he gasped for breath, he felt Kozlov gradually bring his gun to the lip of his pants. Kozlov pressed the muzzle into the tender flesh at the center of his torso, right in front of his spine. This was it. If Kozlov pulled the trigger one more time he’d be paralyzed and shortly after, he’d die.

The catastrophic injury of being shot at point-blank range would shatter his spine. Paralysis would be immediate. The resulting bone fragments would cause multiple and substantial lacerations to his organs and other tissues. Extensive internal bleeding would occur. He’d be dead within minutes.

He was dying. Even without the third shot. His heart beat so fast, he thought it might explode. He couldn’t pull air into his lungs. Still, he tried, but he couldn’t catch his breath. He was going to die. Laying here, on the cold concrete, at the mercy of a psychopath, he gasped for air as he bled to death.

The fear was real, even though he knew what would happen next. A bullet would sound and Kozlov would fall next to him, dead.

But there was no third gunshot. The Maguanacs were not coming to save him. Trowa was not coming for him. Because that was six years ago and Trowa had left. He’d left when he had been in the hospital and he'd left when they'd started to fall apart six months ago.

It was just him. And the blackness that was his new reality.

***

“Don’t get any closer, Trowa,” he warned. He needed him to stay away. He needed him to keep his distance. Everything was safer at a distance. He didn’t hurt when everything was at a distance. Distance was clarity and he needed clarity to know who was his enemy.

Trowa and Heero weren’t his enemies, but the colonies were. He didn’t want to hurt either of them, but if they got in the way if they tried to stop him...He’d be forced to do something he wanted to avoid.

Heedless of his warning, Trowa kept speeding towards him in the Vayeate. He seemed oblivious to the danger he was putting himself in. Trowa was underestimating how serious he was. He was underestimating this suit.

He needed to pay attention.

“What did I just say?” he yelled. Trowa continued coming after him. “Don’t get any closer to me!” Quatre leveled Wing Zero’s twin buster rifle at the Vayeate and fired. Trowa’s suit was launched backward, the suit’s right arm and leg, as well as the right side of the cockpit, disintegrated under the immense firepower. He watched as the damaged Gundam drifted lifelessly.

“Hey, Quatre!” Trowa’s voice crackled over his communication line. “What’s going on here?”

He didn’t see it. Why couldn’t he see it?

“Trowa, outer space has gone crazy,” he explained. He needed Trowa to understand, to see that the colonies were now their enemies. “I’m going to use this Gundam to destroy it all. I have no choice but to destroy all the weapons that have accumulated out here. The colonies are becoming armed, right?”

The last thing the colonies needed was to become armed and that’s exactly what they were doing. They had to be stopped and the only way to do that was to destroy them once and for all. It was the only solution. “That’s why the colonies must be destroyed!”

“What’s the matter, Quatre?” Trowa asked him. He could hear the confusion in his voice. “This isn’t the Quatre I know!”

He still wasn’t getting it. Well, if he couldn’t convince him to join him, then perhaps at least he could get them to leave him alone. If they wouldn’t help him, they should just stay away. “Tell the others for me. Tell them to stay away from me! Otherwise, I’ll end up killing them.”

His cockpit beeped a warning. Heero was coming at him and fast. Defensively, he swung the buster rifle around and fired. “I’m telling you, not to get any closer!”

“Is that all you got to say?” Heero yelled back at him. He could hear the anger in Heero’s voice as his former comrade rushed him. With a well-placed slash of his beam saber, Heero knocked the rifle out of his grip.

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to do this, he’d oblige him. He pulled out his own beam saber and prepared to duel. “If everything has gone crazy, then I’ll believe in myself and keep fighting,” Heero told him. “Quatre, “I’m going to kill you.” Heero’s voice was level and determined. He meant what he said.

Well, so had he.

Heero came after him again, swinging back his beam saber and whipping it downward in a powerful blow. Quatre met him with the Wing Zero, trading blows with their beam sabers as if they were two knights on the battlefield. Their duel was punctuated by the rapid gunfire from Heero’s beam cannon and his the shoulder-mounted machine cannons on his own Gundam.

Heero sent the Mercurius’ planet defender system after him, which he successfully dodged, but at the expense of losing his beam saber. He had to act quickly to regain his buster rifle before Heero could attack again. He whipped the weapon around, aimed at his friend, and fired.

Heero’s suit remained undamaged. His suit’s defense mechanism was impressive, but it wouldn’t be able to hold out forever and Quatre was willing to bet Wing Zero’s firepower would outlast the OZ suit’s defensive capabilities, but he wasn’t about to needlessly kill a friend if he didn’t have to.

“Heero, why are we fighting each other?” he asked. “The colonies have teamed up with OZ. They’re my enemies now.” Heero had to see that. Both of them. They had to. “Trowa, Heero, the colonies are your enemies now too! Outer space has lost all reason! That’s why I’m going to destroy everything. That’s natural, isn’t it?”

Without a reply, Heero engaged him once again, forcing him to level Zero’s buster rifle at his friend and firing. The force of the hit knocked Heero backward, but he righted himself and prepared for another advance. This wasn’t what he wanted.

“You’ll die, Heero,” he warned. Guy was so stubborn. He’d get himself killed before he backed down from a fight. “I don’t want to defeat people who are my allies. Please Heero, get away from here.” He didn’t receive a response. “Hey! Are you listening to me?!”

Finally, Heero’s voice filled his cockpit. “Quatre, I’m not leaving. There’s a colony that needs to be defended.”

Fine. If that’s the way he was going to be, he left him with no choice.

He aimed his rifle once again at Heero’s Mercurius and fired. The OZ Gundam’s defense system failed. The force of Zero's rifle pummeled the red suit into the colony. “Heero, I can’t stand that colony any longer!”

He waited, hoping Heero would simply lay down and surrender. That suit of his wouldn’t be able to hold up much longer. Slowly he could see Heero prying himself out of the damaged side of the colony.

His hope for avoiding killing a friend evaporated. Heero would never back down. The realization of that sank in and he steeled himself for what he had to do. He supposed he should be upset, should feel scared or reluctant at the idea of killing one of his closest allies, but he wasn’t.

“I’d ask you to get out of your mobile suit, but you won’t, will you?” The question was rhetorical and Heero didn’t offer a response. “In that case, I’m gonna have to kill you.”

“Then get it over with,” Heero dared him. “I have no intention of chatting with an enemy.”

Heero was calling his bluff. Except, it wasn’t a bluff. He was dead serious and now Heero was going to find out exactly what that meant.

“That’s it then. Goodbye, Heero.”

He lined up his target. The system beeped rapidly as it warned him that he wasn’t lined up properly to secure a hit. And then, the sight lit up green and the go-attack sound announced he had a clean shot. He was on target. He fired.

Quatre could see the shape of Heero’s suit for a few seconds as the Wing Zero’s buster rifle pelted it with fire before it blew up. As the shot dissipated, all that was left that could be seen was small pieces of debris. Just like that, he’d killed his friend.

“Quatre!” Trowa’s voice shouted in his ear. “Why don't you see what a big mistake you're making, Quatre?”

He didn’t respond. They were obviously his enemy. Heero hadn’t been an ally after all and neither was Trowa. He didn’t want him to be though. “Heero was mistaken, Trowa,” he told him in another attempt at convincing him. “The colonies are part of the problem in outer space, not the solution.”

“Quatre, you’re wrong,” Trowa countered as he raced towards him. “Stop this. This isn’t like you!”

Without a word, Quatre turned his buster rifle on him. Trowa was an enemy. Heero had turned into an enemy and now Trowa had too. There was no other recourse. He had to destroy all his enemies.

He took a shaky breath and let it out, then pulled another breath in, this one stronger and more steady. When he breathed out, he squeezed the trigger. Fire, fed by Wing Zero’s nuclear reactor, erupted out of the twin buster rifle. The Vayeate disintegrated under the overwhelming power that was Wing Zero, taking Trowa along with it.

His breath was shaky. His body trembled and his tears sparkled in front of his face, even though he didn’t feel remotely sad. There was probably some reason his body felt the need to cry, but he pushed the thought away. Trowa had done it to himself. Trowa’s damaged suit hadn’t stood a chance, he would have known that, and now he was gone.

“Goodbye, Trowa,” he said quietly as he took aim at the colony and fired.

The beam rifle turned into the Monstrosity’s pulverizing arm. Trowa was in front of him, in his modified Taurus, and Quatre had his sights on him. He felt nothing. Only the clinical need to destroy. Trowa was in his way. He had to be destroyed. Quatre pulled the pulverizing arm backward, readying it for a hit.

“Quatre! Talk to me, Quatre!”

Trowa hadn’t acted against him since learning that it was him in this suit. Instead, he’d tried multiple times to establish communication, but he’d never responded. Talking hadn’t worked in the past. Avoiding each other hadn’t helped. It was simply time to end it all.

With a sickening crunch, the arm of his Monstrosity crumpled the cockpit of Trowa’s suit. The speedy Taurus’s armor was practically useless. It would crack and split and be demolished with one more hit, as easy as a crab cracking the shell of a snail before making it a meal.

“Quatre!” Trowa’s voice crackled faintly over his communication line. “Stop this! Quatre, what’s wrong? This...This isn’t you.”

But it was him and Trowa had made him this way.

The pulverizing arm cranked back again and before Trowa could say anything more, he attacked. The Monstrosity’s arm slammed into the same spot he’d hit before. A direct blow to the cockpit. Trowa’s communication line went dead. Nothing could have survived that.

As he retracted the arm, he could see just how badly the outside of the armor had suffered. The cockpit had been crushed in on itself. The armor was still mostly intact, though it had been pummeled inward like a metal crater. He couldn’t see into the cockpit itself, but he could still see the copious amounts of blood splattered along the edges of the caved in metal.

He turned the Monstrosity away and left the battlefield.

Quatre threw himself forward, doubling over his knees as he gasped for breath. The warm, protective covers of his bed pooled around his waist as he sat. Breathing was difficult. No matter how hard he tried, it felt as if his lungs wouldn’t work. His heart was racing, beating so hard he thought it might burst.

A hand gripped his heart as he tried to breathe while he clutched his bedsheets in the other. He desperately needed air and his body felt weak as it trembled uncontrollably. Sheer panic threatened to overtake him.

He pressed his forehead against his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. He hugged himself and began rocking back and forth. He knew this was a panic attack. He knew it would end. He clung to those facts as he desperately tried to calm himself down.

The attempt seemed futile though. Whether his eyes were open or closed, he just couldn’t get the final image of Trowa’s blood splattered across his modified Taurus out of his head. The fighting was long over. He hadn’t killed his friends and he certainly hadn’t killed the man he loved.

He could hear the drawer of his bedside stand open, heard the soft clack of Danny’s toenails hitting the wood. He hadn’t even noticed Danny get off the bed. After some rustling around, he felt the cold metal tin of his medicine case. He looked down. Danny had brought him his emergency supply of anti-anxiety medication, the ones he used for instances like these.

“Water, Danny,” he said shakily. Danny dropped the tin on the bed next to him and hurried out of the room. Somewhere in the back of his head, he registered that he’d had enough air in his lungs to speak. Shouldn’t be surprised, but that knowledge drove away some of the panic. The fear of suffocating was diminishing, even if it wasn’t completely gone. His heart was still pounding though and the feeling of being in danger, of being chased, wasn’t going away.

Danny trotted back in, a water bottle in his mouth. Weakly, he held out a hand. Danny gently gave it over and let go. His movements were slow as he uncapped the bottle and opened his medicine tin with shaking hands. It took a conscious effort to rally the strength to down the pill.

He sat there, arms draped over his knees and his head hanging between them as he suffered through the remainder of his anxiety attack, waiting for his medication to kick in. Slowly, the pain in his chest eased. His breathing became easier. His body still shook, though not as much. It would likely take a few hours before the weakness in his limbs dissipated, but at least the immediate scare was over. The terror of his nightmare diminished as the minutes ticked by.

Danny Dog jumped on the bed and sat in front of him, shoving his wet nose in his face before striking that regal, trademark collie pose. Quatre smiled slightly as he held out a hand. Danny promptly placed his paw on it. “Good boy, Danny.” Danny just watched him, like a critical mother keeping track of her children.

He looked at his alarm clock. 15:21. Shit. He’d already missed two classes. So much for school. He looked back at Danny, whose paw he still held. “Guess we’re taking a sick day,” he told him quietly.

With his empty hand, he reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. After taking a deep breath, he texted Blane.

***

Quatre cruised his motorcycle into MIT’s Kresge parking lot and throttled down into one of the few open spaces. It was Thursday. Two days had passed since he'd had that terrible nightmare. Dr. Farlan was still a week away and the weekend loomed before him like a beast brought forth from the depths of his deepest insecurities.

Tomorrow he would be on a plane to California for a weekend that should be joyful and fun. Instead, he dreaded it. Every step closer to Dr. Farlan was a step closer to seeing Trowa again and that was something he knew he wasn't ready for.

Still sitting on his bike, he pulled off his helmet and tousled his hair with nervous irritation. He stared at his helmet as he worked up the gumption to meet up with Blane as planned. He had to admit, what he was about to do was an extreme measure, even by his standards. But, he’d run out of options.

His meds needed adjusting. He’d been medicated long enough to know when they stopped working the way they should. His diminishing ability to cope with the anxiety and depression, the increase of his night terrors, proved it.

His instructors had been supportive and accommodating, letting him do work from home with flexible timetables. But like a single valve being opened in an attempt to release the pressure of a dam, these academic adaptations were only a stop gap. Temporary. Just enough to stem the arterial gushing of an amputation until the doctor arrived.

He just had to get through the weekend. Considering what that was going to entail… He was going to need some help.

He checked his watch. He was right on time. With a deep breath, he tucked his helmet under his arm, adjusted his messenger bag that hung across and walked across the blacktop to Jack Barry Field. He could see Blane standing in a circle with a group of twenty-plus players. Same team, different colored jerseys. Looked like the end of a practice scrimmage.

Quatre shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stood quietly off to the side, waiting as Blane’s team finished their huddle. Shortly after, Blane walked over to the sideline and grabbed his bag, tossed it over his shoulder. The business student-soccer player noticed him as he hefted his bag and, with a smile on his face, waved. As if there wasn’t a care in the world.

As if they weren’t just about to do this.

“Hey, man,” Blane said as he walked up. He stared at him for a moment. “You look a little better. Still look pretty rough though.”

He fixed Blane with an expression that said he was less than amused. “I really don’t need reminding of ‘how bad I look’.”

“You’re a lot crankier too.”

Quatre shot him an annoyed expression.

“Come on,” Blane said, clapping him on the shoulder and walking forward, leading the way to his own car. Quatre followed, nervously adjusting the bag on his back as Blane opened his car and came out with a small book. Blane offered it to him. He stared at it for a long minute before reaching for it.

“Blane!”

He nearly jumped clear out of his skin at the loud shout from one of Blane’s teammates. Following the voice, both guys looked over the top of Blane’s car. A large, burly man a little older than them pointed in their direction. “Drinks at Dave’s! Eight o’clock!”

Blane offered a thumbs up. “You got it!” The guy turned around as other teammates joined him and amidst plenty of shoulder claps and teasing, the group walked away, leaving them to themselves once again.

When he turned back around, Blane must have seen the near panic in him because his voice was soft and calm. “Easy man,” he said. “You’re fine.”

Quatre gave him a pained look. “Fine isn’t even…”

“What I’m saying,” Blane said, cutting him off. “Is that you’re _fine_. _We_ are fine. It’s just a book. No need to freak out.”

Blane continued to hold the book out towards him. He looked down at it, considering the implications of what might happen if he took it. What he was doing was the equivalent of playing with fire next to a powder keg. He knew the statistics. He knew the risks. Between half and three-quarters of PTSD sufferers also suffer from addiction. Even with all the medical advancements, addiction was still difficult to treat. It was a large gamble. One with potentially life-shattering consequences.

But what other option did he have? Nothing was working. Nothing was easing his anxiety, the panic attacks. As it stood, he had no buffer from the emotional gauntlet he was about to run.

Fifty to seventy percent chance of addiction. Thirty percent chance of _not_ becoming addicted. That number rose considerably with MDMA. When pure, it posed no addictive qualities on its own.

As if reading his thoughts, Blane tried to ease his hesitation. “You can trust it. Stuff’s pure. I wouldn’t get anything else.”

Quatre looked back up to Blane. He still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “You’re sure your guy can be trusted?” Because _that_ totally didn’t sound shady at all. He hadn’t even felt this self-conscious about taking his Gundam to Earth. And that had been a declaration of war.

“This is what he does. He’s got top shelf stuff and then he’s got the lower quality stuff. I only get top shelf stuff.” He gave Blane a less than convinced look. “I tested it too,” Blane added defensively. “I wouldn’t ever give you anything I wouldn’t take for one and second, you can totally come back to my place and watch me do another test. I bought plenty of the stuff for myself.”

He considered Blane for a long moment. Blane had no reason to lie to him. They’d known each other for four years. The guy was a top tier student, dedicated to succeeding in life. He wouldn’t recklessly jeopardize that.

With a resigned sigh, he held out his hand. Blane willingly handed it over. “There’s three in there. Even if your meds aren’t doing what they’re supposed to, you’re still taking an SSRI, which can reduce their effectiveness. That said, start out easy. Take a half, give it about an hour, and if you feel like you need a little more, take the other half. Just make sure you drink plenty of water and keep your electrolytes up. Make sure you don’t overheat.”

Blane put his hands in his pockets and leaned against his car. “You still don’t drink, do you?”

That tore his gaze from the book. He looked at Blane, a puzzled expression on his face. “No, I don’t. Why?”

Blane smiled like the answer should be obvious. “Alcohol’s a downer. It would be counterproductive to take this stuff and alcohol at the same time. You’d just cancel the stuff out.”

Quatre swung his bag around to his front and put the book away. “Anything else?” he asked.

“Actually _try_ to enjoy yourself this weekend,” Blane suggested. “You could use it. God knows you don’t loosen up like you should.”

He shot Blane a “stop it” look. “Trowa said something similar,” he said quietly.

It was Blane’s turn to sigh. “Well, he’s right. You have three of those things. For you, that should be plenty to get you through the weekend. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. It’s a late flight.”

“Alright, man,” Blane said as he pushed himself off his car and clapped him on the arm. “Call me if you need anything. Even if it’s just to talk.”

“Thanks,” he replied if a bit distractedly. He was already thinking about how miserable this weekend was going to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with the disclaimer: Just because it makes an appearance in my story, does not mean I condone the actions of some of my characters. The use of illegal drugs is dangerous and a good way to end up with a drug-related charge on your permanent record. I encourage you to not indulge in dangerous activities such as the use of illegal drugs."

Quatre hurried into the reception hall, hanging up his garment bag on the back of the door, dropping both his duffel bag and violin case against the wall as he went. “Quatre!” The delighted voice that called his name was a mixture of both Duo and Hilde, though it was the black hair, green-eyed bride to be who left her place at the altar to run and greet him.

She cupped his face in her hands and smiled up at him. “You made it! We weren’t expecting you until late.”

He smiled down at her. She’d gotten rather motherly over the last couple of years. “I was able to make an earlier flight. I didn’t interrupt did I?”

“No!” she said, releasing his face and dragging him by the arm up the aisle. “You actually have great timing. We just got up there. So go take your spot. Just be careful, the stairs are a little slanted. It’s an old church, so the foundation’s shifted a bit.”

Hilde shoved him rather forcefully into his place between Trowa and Wufei. She’d been right to warn him. The step was deceptively angled, causing him to overbalance on the one side. He had to grab Trowa’s arm to keep from falling over. Trowa’s free arm reached out behind to catch him in case he toppled over completely. The move was automatic and protective.

“You okay?” Trowa asked. The guy’s emerald eyes looked at him over his shoulder as he used Trowa’s arm to correct himself.

“Yeah…” he said, looking down at the deadly step. “I might just break an ankle is all,” he replied and tested his foot position. “Or my neck.” Seemed steady. He released Trowa’s arm and the taller ex-Gundam pilot, made even taller by his position a step above, slowly retracted his outstretched arm.

“You fall again, I might not be fast enough,” he warned.

Quatre could feel the heat color his face. The last thing he really needed was to fall on his face or into his ex’s arms, though he honestly wouldn’t mind the later. He silently chastised himself. Six months apart and he still felt like a lovesick teenager around Trowa. “I’m good,” he promised.

He knew Duo had purposefully put them in the order of their Gundams. Naturally, Heero was Duo’s best man. Trowa was next, since Duo’s suit was second, causing the order to jump from the first to the third. As the fourth, Quatre was placed behind and next to Trowa all night. Wufei was last and would be on his left. In years past, he’d always been secretly pleased with their order. Now he dreaded it.

“Alright. Just stay there,” Hilde told him as she stepped back and framed the boys up. Once satisfied that everyone was looking proper, she rushed back to her place next to Duo.

“Good of you to show up,” Wufei quietly teased behind him.

“Thank my assistant. Dude’s a miracle worker.”

“Just don’t fall on me.”

***

The group was more rambunctious than he’d expected as they arrived at the restaurant. The party room had been set up with three long tables pushed together at the ends to make one extremely large table. Relena and Sally, maid of honor and bridesmaid respectively, were more sedate than the other two girls Hilde had chosen to be in the party. Trowa had already forgotten their names. Those girls had enough excitement between the two of them to offset the more reserved groomsmen.

For practice, the soon to be newlyweds as well as the bride and grooms parties were situated like they would be tomorrow. All the groomsmen were lined up on Duo’s left, while all the bridesmaids were seated on Hilde’s right. The arrangement placed Quatre on his left. He could feel the awkward tension between them and Quatre made a point to avoid eye contact when possible.

Where most people ordered some sort of alcoholic or soft drink to go with their meals, Quatre had asked for water. Typical. The guy rarely strayed from his usual plain water or tea. He did, however, mix in a bag of powdered electrolytes which was curious. Trowa couldn’t place a reason as to why Quatre would need to add electrolytes to anything, especially in September. “Taking up sports?” he asked casually.

“Huh...What?” Quatre asked in surprise, staring at him and looking very much like a deer in headlights.

“Your electrolytes,” he responded, pointing to Quatre’s now cloudy water.

“Yes, I’m trying out for the New England Patriots,” Quatre replied with both irritation and snark. Trowa bit back an ill-tempered reply as Duo laughed hysterically. So much for pleasant conversation. For once he silently cursed Duo’s quick wit and snark that had rubbed off onto the typically mild-mannered Quatre. After so many years of getting heckled by the closest thing to a brother he had, Quatre had adapted well enough to throw it right back.

“I’ve just been dehydrated lately,” Quatre added more evenly at Trowa’s pointed stare.

“It’s the beginning of the semester,” he countered with a frown. “You shouldn’t be worn out that much already.”

“I had to push a lot of meetings last semester. More than I really should have. I spent all summer catching up, so I haven’t had a lot of downtime,” Quatre replied. And by ‘not a lot’, he really meant ‘none at all’. Trowa considered the workaholic for a moment before allowing the subject to drop. Quatre could take care of himself without him meddling.

“We’ll get you to loosen up, ol’ buddy,” Duo told Quatre with a smile that was a little bit devilish. Trowa had a sneaking suspicion that Duo had every intention of getting into some sort of trouble with Quatre tonight. Both being extroverts and quite self-confident, when left together with their own devices, Duo and Quatre had the potential to get themselves into all kind of shenanigans.

***

Quatre gently dropped both his duffle bag and violin case in front of the bed in his hotel room. With a sigh, he sat on on the edge and let himself fall backward. The soft, downy mattress caught him, bouncing slightly from the sudden movement. He threw an arm across his eyes and tried to get over how awkward dinner had been, just like he’d feared it would.

Every time he got remotely close to Trowa he had to resist the urge to reach out to him. Six months had gone by and he still missed him. He missed the small touches, the playful banter, the suggestive glances, and the lazy evenings entwined together while doing such mundane things as reading and homework. He wanted things to be as they had been.

This weekend should be fun, for all involved. It shouldn't be uncomfortable or tense or awkward, struggling with the present while wishing for the past. And that’s exactly what dinner had been.

But Trowa was off limits.

After being through so much together, the war of 195, the Mariemaia Rebellion, and the Eurussian Insurrection ...Even after all of that, four and a half years of a romantic relationship kept them from going back to the easy friendship they’d shared in the beginning.

So much for a fun weekend.

Quatre retracted his arm and stared absently at the ceiling. He’d wanted to see how the night would go all on its own, without resorting to desperate measures. He wanted to avoid that option if he could. Not going so well, he thought sardonically.

_Just a casualty of war._

He groaned. Why? Why did the stupid voice in his head have to show up, now, of all times? The weekend was going to be bad enough. He didn’t need his own consciousness to pile on even more.

_What did you really expect to happen? He left you for a reason. He’s free to do what he wants now, yet you keep trying to hold on. It makes sense that having to be so close to you all weekend would be awkward._

Well, alright. If it wasn’t going to go away, he might as well play the game. _We were friends before we started dating and he was the one who asked to dance in Duo’s garage, not the other way around,_ he countered.

_He was laying the ground for the weekend. You know you wanted to dance with him. He knew it too. He was just being polite._

Quatre’s heart sunk. He was correct. Trowa had been the one who asked to dance, pretending he didn’t know how. But the voice in his head was also correct. He _had_ wanted to dance with him. It was a very couple-y thing to do.

Self-doubt crawled under his skin as he remembered the smile Trowa had given him and the convincing he’d done to get him to agree. It had been the first time they’d seen each other in six months. Plenty of time for Trowa to move on. It would make sense that he would do something to break the ice, try to pave the way for a more relaxed weekend. It was Duo’s wedding after all. It wouldn’t do to have the groomsmen all tense and awkward with each other.

But Trowa didn’t play games. Years ago Heero had told Trowa to follow his emotions, a mantra he’d taken to heart. At the very least he’d stick to that. Trowa would never lead him on. He was a better guy than that.

 _But he_ has _played games before. He started everything with that kiss on Pier One, but then he’d up and left while you were still in the hospital._

 _Stop bringing that up,_ he told the voice in his head. _Trowa already explained that. He was there during the worst of it and didn’t flinch when I finally admitted to your existence. If he’d put up with that…_

_After all this time, you’re still not normal. You’re a depressed, anxiety-ridden mess with PTSD and psychosis. You’re psychotic._

_I’m fine._

_Liar._

He could hear the sneer in the voice. _I’m fine,_ he argued, _at least when my meds actually work._

_No, you’re not. You’re a time bomb waiting to go off...again._

Quatre frowned. _No, I’m n…_

_Why were you on the shuttle the Maguanacs captured?_

He paused in his internal debate. He had been trying to run away from home. An attention-seeking act during the height of his depression when he was twelve. He’d been angry at his father and couldn’t understand that his life, created on the whim of a man thoroughly uninterested in him as an individual, had any meaning whatsoever. Full of self-loathing, he’d seen himself as nothing more than a tool for his father’s wishes, his plans to carry on the Winner legacy at any cost. His future was predetermined. He had no options. All choice had been taken from him as soon as he’d been born. He was a tool, nothing more. Replaceable if necessary.

_Exactly. You were already hard-wired this way._

His kidnapping by the Maguanacs, an unexpected bargaining chip they’d landed while taking a caravan of WEI cargo ships hostage, had changed everything. Rashid had, quite literally, slapped sense into him and after a lecture on self-respect, family, and self-determination, his outlook on life had changed forever.

In marketing, such an unexpected and unpredictable occurrence was called a black swan. And Rashid, his black swan, had been just as responsible for shaping him into the person he was today as his father had been.

_You were ticking even then. And two years later?_

He’d lost his father and gone crazy. He’d built Wing Zero and destroyed a natural resource satellite and an entire colony. He’d snapped. Like a dry piece of kindling.

_And?_

He sighed. He’d almost killed Trowa. Thankfully he hadn’t, but he had caused serious harm, resulting in Trowa suffering a case of temporary amnesia. Eventually, a battle in which Trowa used Wing Zero had brought his memory back, but Quatre had never fully forgiven himself for causing so much damage to someone for whom he cared so much.

_And two years after that?_

He’d had his run-in with Kozlov, which had led to his PTSD and the depression and anxiety that came with it. It was also then that this voice of his had shown up.

_Who would honestly want to stick around for that?_

Quatre rolled over onto his side. And now he had to spend the weekend with him. Maybe he should have stayed home. Too late now though. He was here and committed. Maybe he could at least get out of tonight. Save his energy for tomorrow. But everyone else was going. It would be conspicuous if he didn’t go as well. He was just so tired though.

***

He could see the rooftop from his position within the helicopter. Everyone else appeared to have landed safely. The only one left in the hovering aircraft was him. He could hear the heavy gunfire as Eurussian mobile suits fought the Maguanacs nearby. He didn’t have much time to get off this thing. He moved into position, getting ready to jump.

Suddenly, he heard a low whistle coming towards him. Before he could react, the front of the cockpit exploded, sheared off by a missile. The tail swung wildly to the right, causing him to lose his balance. The rotors began to slow as the giant hunk of metal and gasoline tipped to the side and rolled over the edge of the building.

Somehow, he was able to extricate himself from the tumbling mess of smoke, debris, and rugged metal. with a quick calculation and no small amount of luck, he was able to stay clear of getting his parachute pulled down with the falling bird.

And then he was in the underground garage. The lights were off, casting everything in shadow and darkness. His senses were heightened, on the lookout for anything that might turn into a threat. Carefully, he stepped forward, intent on entering the building and meeting up with the Maguanacs, and hopefully, with Trowa.

“What do we have here?”

Ice stabbed through his very core. He would never forget that voice. That cool, superior voice, spoken in perfect English and that clipped Russian accent.

He knew what was coming and he was powerless to stop it.

Kozlov stepped forward to stand in front of him. Cocky, with one hand holding that damn Glock in his face. The guy’s whole body spoke of confidence and a lack of fear. Kozlov was in complete control. He had him exactly where he wanted him.

Kozlov tried to make conversation, drag out the encounter. He wanted to lord his victory over him. Quatre wasn’t interested. They argued. A shot rang out and he was flung backward. He landed hard on the pavement. The air was gone from his lungs and he couldn’t breathe.

Cool metal pressed against his cheek and pushed his head to the side. He closed his eyes tight as the pistol’s muzzle lazily traveled along his jaw until it stopped under his chin. With a hard jab, his head was forced backward, exposing his neck.

“What a pretty little thing you are.”

His eyes shot open. That voice. Quiet, cool, and so very pleased, but the Russian accent was gone. He knew that voice. He knew who it was, enjoying the pain he was in. He just didn’t want to believe it.

He tipped his head to the side and there, kneeling over him, was Trowa.

“Trowa?” he gasped. Forming words were difficult and his lung was beginning to burn.

Trowa pushed the gun against his skin more forcefully and began tracing his jaw again before running the muzzle down his neck. The expression on Trowa’s face was calm, yet chillingly pleased. As if he were enjoying the pain he was inflicting on his former lover.

“Trowa,” he said, forcing the words out between gasps for air. “I don’t understand.”

“You know what I hate more than gays,” Trowa asked. A small smile touched his lips, his only visible eye glinted with some sadistic fire. “Is one who tries to kill me.”

“I didn’t mean to…”

The echo of another gunshot reverberated within the concrete walls of the garage. He cried out in pain, though the sound was cut short by the lack of air in his lungs. Again, he gasped. Fire raced through his body like rivers of lava. The pain was consuming. He could hardly think straight. Desperately, he tried to pull air into his lungs, even as tears of pain ran down his cheeks.

Trowa continued to drag his gun downward, meandering across his abdomen, before resting above the button on his pants. That was the third shot that had never happened. If Trowa pulled the trigger, that was it. He was dead. The resulting injury would be catastrophic. If the first two bullets didn’t kill him, this last one certainly would.

“Trowa…”

Trowa continued to smile as he leaned forward and with his empty hand, wiped away a tear as it slid down his face.

For a third time, the high powered crack of a gun filled the garage. Then all was quiet.

The shrill ring of his phone going off startled him awake. His heart was racing and his breathing rapid as he sat bolt upright, wiping his head around the room, looking for danger. It took almost a minute for his mind to register that he was in a hotel room. Another half to remember that it was Duo’s wedding.

 _What the hell was that_ he asked himself. A night terror where Trowa was the bad guy was rare. It took him long enough to get his bearings that the phone had stopped ringing, though a minute later it was back at it.

He pulled the phone from his pocket, even as his chest still heaved with the remnants of terror. He had to close his eyes and take a long, deep breath before he was composed enough to answer the call. “Yeah?” He couldn’t quite keep the sound of sleep from his voice.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” Duo’s typically chipper voice came through the phone. Duo knew him so well. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the palm of a hand. “How jet lagged are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You alright?” He wasn’t asking about the jet lag.

“I’ll be fine,” he reiterated. “How long was I asleep?”

“Little over an hour,” Duo answered.

“Sorry.”

“You got here sooner than we were expecting. No one minded letting you sleep for a bit. You didn’t miss much. Heero beat Wufei at chess. That’s about it.” In spite of himself, Quatre huffed a little laugh. “We’ll be heading out in about forty-five minutes. Just so you know.”

“Yeah, alright.” He couldn’t not go. It was Duo’s bachelor party. He was expected to go. He couldn’t bail on him. “I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Duo hung up and Quatre dropped the phone on the bed before pushing himself into a sitting position. He sighed. He had forty-five minutes to rally the energy to go out. Somehow, he wasn't confident he'd be successful.

Reluctantly, his eyes moved toward his bag. The MDMA was in there, mixed in with his antidepressants. Apparently, Blane’s guy had the foresight to produce the stuff to have the same size and shape of other, normal pills. Though stamped with a unique brand, the pills wouldn’t be suspicious so long as no one looked too hard.

No one had.

So here he was, waking up from yet another night terror and desperately needing to put on a brave face. “With MDMA, you won’t just get through the weekend, you’ll actually enjoy it,” Blane had said. Still eyeing his bag, he pulled his knees to his chin as he considered his options.

There was, at the least, a thirty percent chance of _not_ developing an addiction problem. Pure MDMA was scientifically proven to be non-addicting, but still, that’s a big assumption considering this was an independent guy and not a pharmaceutical company.

On the other hand, he wasn’t doing well. The terrors were getting worse and the residual emotions from them continued to bleed into his daily interactions. His depression and anxiety were sky high. Blane had been right, there was only so much of that he could hide.

If the stuff worked like Blane said it would, he wouldn’t just be a drag on the festivities. He might actually have fun. This was Duo’s wedding. It should be nothing but happiness and fun. He couldn’t allow himself to bring the mood down. Duo and Hilde deserved that at the very least.

As it stood, he had no other recourse. He’d fought longer odds than thirty percent before.

Fine, he thought as he pushed himself off the bed. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his bag while simultaneously crossing the room to the small desk in the corner. He leaned down, grabbing a water bottle from the small courtesy fridge before opening the bag with a yank and dug out his pill bottle. Before he could think twice, he downed a whole pill. Blane might have said to start with a half and go up from there, but by his estimation, he probably needed more than just a half to get through the night.

He looked out the window and across San Francisco’s skyline after dark. _There’s no going back now_ , he told himself.


	5. Chapter 5

The music was loud, the tempo rhythmic and upbeat. The live band played a general mixture of old-fashioned rock ‘n roll and more contemporary club hits. Almost in spite of the wide range in music, it pulled people onto the dance floor.

Quatre tossed his light grey blazer over a chair at the table they’d claimed as Duo went to order shots. Trowa did his best to hide his interest as he surreptitiously drank in the sight of him. Unsurprisingly, the light blue button-up hugged him in all the right places before slipping under the lip of cream-colored slacks. The outfit was fitted and Quatre had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, accentuating his trim frame and the lightly toned muscle underneath its fabric, which begged to be torn off that glorious body of his.

Everyone, save for Quatre, tossed back a round of shots when Duo brought them over. “Okay,” Quatre told Duo as he hooked an arm in the crook of his friend’s elbow. “Think of this as a test run,” Heero asked for drink orders for the rest of them and Trowa watched in amusement as Quatre and Duo made their way onto the dance floor. They started out dancing together, a final tune-up, before Quatre let the groom-to-be loose to fend for himself.

A few hours later saw Duo and Quatre still out on the dance floor while he, Heero, and Wufei nursed some alcohol. Heero and Wufei both had long neck beers. Considering the night ahead of him, dealing with Quatre alternating between hot and cold towards him all night, Trowa had opted for straight up bourbon. It was his third.

He watched from the railing that separated the bar from the dance floor as Quatre and Duo danced. Duo, though getting plenty of attention from women, was careful not to appear to be too interested in any of them. Despite the alcohol in him, he was being deliberate to not get himself into trouble before he tied the knot tomorrow. Quatre, on the other hand, had apparently found a dance partner that was just as adept as he was.

Despite the claim he’d made last week of not being overly fond of Latin dances, they were doing a decent job of adapting ballroom to a club atmosphere while several envious individuals looked on. He looked like he was enjoying himself too, even if his partner was a young woman with long legs, shapely hips, and big breasts. Kind of difficult to miss those.

“Think they know he’s gay?” he asked no one in particular as he sipped his bourbon.

Wufei casually looked on. “If he keeps dancing with them like that...doubtful.”

Trowa watched in uncomfortable displeasure as Quatre got pulled into another dance with another attractive young woman. Due in part to the press of other dancers around them and partially due to her assertiveness, they were dancing very close together. Quatre still looked to be enjoying himself too. His ex was certainly giving off signals tonight, even if it was to the wrong gender.

“Are you sure he didn’t drink anything?” he asked, looking over at Heero. “On accident?”

“If you’re just going to be jealous all night, go get him,” Wufei said in mild exasperation, waving his hand in Quatre’s direction.

“It’s sound advice,” Heero added, catching his eye with a pointed expression, a small smile pulling at his lips. Trowa let out an exasperated sigh and went back to watching Quatre on the dance floor. He took another sip of bourbon.

“What’s sound advice?” Duo asked breathlessly as he came up next to them. The guy had an empty water bottle in his hand. The dance floor was so crowded Trowa hadn’t even noticed Duo leave Quatre out there alone.

“Trowa’s a little jealous at Quatre’s shameless, if atypical, exhibitionism,” Wufei explained with a smirk. “Trowa’s concerned he suddenly started drinking.” Trowa shot him a baleful glare. The guy could at least pretend he didn’t find it quite so amusing.

“You know he hasn’t,” Duo replied as he stole the beer from Heero’s hand and took a long pull from the bottle. Heero didn’t seem to mind. “But he _does_ seem to be showing off. Guy can move,” Duo said as he motioned in Quatre’s direction with his stolen beer.

Everyone turned their attention back to the blonde out on the dance floor. Quatre leaned in to better hear something his newest lady partner was saying as she danced up on him. He smiled and laughed. Atypical was an understatement.

Their group watched as the song changed. Again, another woman put herself in front of their friend and they were dancing pretty suggestively. “Does _he_ remember he’s gay?” Wufei asked in mild surprise.

“If anyone’s going to be pulling him away from anybody, it should be you,” Duo said, grabbing Trowa’s arm. “Let’s go.”

 _Shit._ He tossed back the rest of his bourbon with regret. It was good bourbon. Didn’t deserve to get downed like a cheap shot of tequila like that. Oh well. Quatre was liable to get himself into something he might not be able to get out of if he kept it up. Time to crash the dance marathon.

Trowa followed Duo out onto the dance floor, his long-haired friend led the way, looking for all the world as if he was ready to join the dancing again himself. Eventually, they were able to thread their way to Quatre. Trowa reached out and hooked a hand around on the inside of his arm. Quatre whipped his head around in surprise as he gently pulled him away from his female dance partner while Duo played interference.

Those big blue eyes caught his, full of confusion, surprise, and yearning.

Looking into those eyes, the years between them played through his head. Their meeting on the battlefield at Corsica, their unexpected partnership here in San Francisco, their fight with Wing Zero and the Vayeate, finding him injured and weak after his duel with Dorothy. Winning the war. Coming together again to fight against Mariemaia. The house with the harbor view and the carnival pier in France. The docking bay in Pier One and those first nights together. Bringing home Danny Dog, the group vacation on the Red Sea, the many therapy sessions with Dr. Farlan, and all those hospital stays - more than one person should have in a lifetime.

They had seven years of friendship between them, almost half of that had been spent dating. Trowa had left six months ago. They hadn’t spoken to each other since feeding a fear in him that the friendship they both cherished wouldn’t survive.

And then last weekend happened.

Those few precious minutes where they’d pretended they both weren’t broken on the inside. They’d been so reminiscent of how they’d been before, in the early years of their romance. Playful, careful, and just a little bit awkward. Happy. Pretending he didn’t know how to dance in an excuse to get Quatre to ‘teach’ him, he’d seen the look in his eyes, the same surprised and hopeful expression he’d worn after he’d kissed him for the first time on the scaffolding of Pier One.

That same look currently shone in those wide eyes peeking out from under those long golden bangs. It threatened to steal the air from his lungs. His heart fluttered more than he wished it would and his pulse quickened. Damn his feelings. As much as it had hurt, he’d broken up with Quatre for a reason and from his latest conversation with Rashid, it was working. Quatre’s grades were back on track and his work for the company was on par again. The last thing he really needed was a repeat of last week. They’d both been reminded that they still wanted each other and that wasn’t helpful to either of them.

But he wasn’t interested in playing games and Quatre was too sincere for that shit. This was a bad idea, coming out onto the dance floor with his former lover. Duo could have pulled him away from the women just as easily as he had. What he _should_ do is go back to the bar, get another bourbon and nurse it properly this time.

What rationale he had left him as Quatre stepped in close, those captivating eyes boring into the very depths of his being. His breath hitched. Quatre had always had that effect on him, always seeing past what was on the outside and knowing the truth of him.

Quatre tipped his head slightly, looking at him with half-hooded eyes. Their bodies were almost touching, the distance between them pulled like a magnet, demanding closeness, demanding contact. He felt the warmth of Quatre’s breath as he spoke quietly in his ear. “I know you can dance, Trowa. So, dance with me.”

The suggestion, command really, caused every nerve in his being to fire. With a Herculean effort, Trowa swallowed the groan that formed at the back of his throat. He felt his body thrum, so much so he was afraid his ex, standing so very tantalizingly close, would feel it too. He wanted Quatre with every ounce of his being, wanted to feel every inch of that delightful body against his own.

This was a bad idea.

He’d pushed the line he’d drawn in the sand last week, asking Quatre to dance. The guy had been a good sport about it and they’d both ended up enjoying themselves. Even though Quatre seemed fine, Trowa was certain there had been repercussions or that eventually there would be, whether he witnessed them or not. Looking back on it during the following week, he’d reaffirmed himself to sticking within safe, platonic, friendship boundaries.

He looked once again down into Quatre’s face. The spark in his eyes held a taunting challenge and Trowa was so very tempted to meet it at the very least and remind him that he wasn’t always in charge at most. He wanted to touch him, hold him, taste him, fill him and make sweet love to him until he begged for release.

It was a bad idea.

But then, it was Quatre who had pressed the two of them so very close together. _Quatre_ had been the one to ask him to dance this time, not the other way around and the slight upturn at the corner of that devilish, teasing mouth sang of victory. Right here, right now, Quatre knew he would get what he wanted. Guy typically did.

What the hell, the whole weekend was a string of potential bad ideas anyway. Magnets were attracted to each other for a reason. _Let’s see how well we dance together._

Trowa dropped his hand away from Quatre’s arm and reached for his hand, slowly twining their fingers together. And it was Quatre’s breath that caught as Trowa wrapped his other arm around his waist and roughly pulled them together. He delighted in that sound as well as the friction caused by their hips rubbing against each other. He felt the semi-hard length of Quatre’s dick press against his.

Goosebumps chased up his arm and the hair on the back of his neck prickled as Quatre just as slowly dragged his free hand up his arm until it hooked around his shoulder. Trowa dipped his head close to Quatre’s as his dance partner leaned in, not quite meeting his gaze. Quatre’s warm breath tickled his neck sending a blaze of desire through him.

Their hearts hammered together as their chests rose and fell. Quatre’s body trembled with anticipation and need. The fast dervish of a song faded into a slow staccato beat with a catchy rhythm.

Quatre _did_ say he could tango.

Trowa waited a few measures before stepping off to lead. Quatre had been ready for him and followed with ease. Their bodies pressed close as they moved together. Forced to contain themselves within the press of other people on the floor, they glided a short distance before Trowa paused their forward motion. Quatre twisted sharply back and forth in front of him as he stood still, holding frame, and then their bodies were pressed together again, trading leg flicks and hooks.

For every movement he made, Quatre answered with one of his own. The guy might be the follower, but every action he took spoke of utter control. As in their relationship, their dancing contained a revolving balance of control and surrender. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. How appropriate. Even at the beginning, at Corsica, the blonde Arab had demonstrated a particular talent for relinquishing his command without losing authority.

He had to admit, the power games had always been a turn on and the hard line of Quatre’s member once again pressing against his thigh reminded him that the same could be said for his ex.

And then they were spinning again as they traveled across the floor, twining their legs together in wraps and flicks as they went. He could feel the tension between them, taught as a wire. All that history, all the passion, and love they had shared over the years became almost tangible as they danced.

Quatre’s free hand once again began to move, traveling slowly to the back of his neck. It sent a cascade of icy hot chills down his back all the way to his toes. Quatre was on his, pressing their heads close, their lips almost touching. He was tempted to steal a kiss as Quatre’s hot breath caressed his skin.

Instead, he leaned forward, forcing Quatre to follow the movement. Trowa slid his hand down the small of Quatre’s back, over his ass, and took hold of the back of his thigh. Quatre didn’t resist as he pulled his leg off the floor to hook around his own. Slowly, agonizingly so, he leaned away slightly until they were almost dragging his other leg behind.

Their eyes locked on each other. The blush that had crept up into Quatre’s cheeks hinted that the move had surprised him. The expression in his eyes was smokey, full of heat and attraction.

The press of Quatre’s body against his, their bodies melting together, reminded him of how Quatre felt underneath him in bed. Or anywhere else he’d had his way with him for that matter. The way he’d squirm and thrust, dig his nails into Trowa’s skin as he pressed against him. The way he’d call out his name. The way he’d beg for more.

Again, he had to wrestle control over himself. Claiming that taunting mouth for his own, laying Quatre down on the floor and reminding them both just how well they fit together would be far from appropriate.

Trowa reluctantly leaned back, putting Quatre’s feet firmly back underneath him once more as the song changed, as did the tempo. Upbeat and quick with plenty of bass to tap a foot to, it sounded like something Cuban.

Quatre smiled impishly at him. Trowa wavered, giving him the opening he needed to take advantage of the hesitation. Quatre quickly stepped forward and then backward in short movements, suggesting a mambo step. Trowa followed in order to keep the frame. Quatre’s lead had widened the distance between them. Keeping in frame kept them close, but it wasn’t close enough for his liking and Trowa wasn’t about to let Quatre do the leading.

Quatre seemed more than willing to follow once again as Trowa pushed forward, his leading leg slipping between Quatre’s. He pulled him in tight, swaying side to side together as they traveled forward and back. They moved effortlessly together, mere extensions of each other.

Dancing with Quatre felt natural, felt right. They complemented each other in more ways than he knew he could ever list.

He sent Quatre out in an underarm spin, then pulled him back, immediately bending him over backward in a downward, forceful dip before whipping him back up against him. Quatre’s leg once again hitched around his thigh for support and when their chests were once again pressed against each other, Quatre rolled his hips. The movement dragged Quatre’s hard on across his leg, effectively reminding him of his own swollen shaft. His head tipped back, eyes closed as a groan escaped him.

Quatre: 1 Him: 0

He refocused, moving forward again, forcing Quatre’s leg off his. Back to proper frame with space between them as they sashayed across the floor. It was evident by the smirk on that deceptively angelic face and the sharp glint in those baby blues eyes that Quatre knew he’d scored a hit.

He sent Quatre out again in another twirl, but when he came back into his arms he was turned away from him. Trowa danced behind as Quatre swayed his hips back and forth tantalizingly, accentuating the movement with little hip twists.

One of Trowa’s hands found its way to Quatre’s hip while the other trailed across his abs. Quatre’s arms reached above him, his hands caressing Trowa’s neck and running through the hair at the back of his head. A shiver ran down his spine. Quatre knew he loved it when he did that.

Quatre danced sensuously against him, his torso lengthening on one side and then the other as he pushed his hips to one side, down, in, and back up to center, then shifting his weight and repeating on the other side in a continuous downward figure eight. The movement was intoxicating. Why the hell didn’t they ever do this before now?

Last week he’d gotten a hint of what Quatre could do and they certainly danced well with each other. He wouldn’t complain about another tango tonight, but this? With those hips drawing against him, the muscles in his torso extending and contracting under his hand as it wandered over Quatre’s deceptively athletic body. This was torture wrapped in pleasure. Quatre was wearing far too much clothes.

All reason left him as he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to Quatre’s shoulder. Quatre leaned into him briefly before twisting in place until they were facing each other again. Trowa’s breath caught in his throat as fear shot through him. The kiss had been instinctual, reactionary. The last thing he wanted was to upset Quatre by crossing too many boundaries in one weekend. Which seemed to be exactly what he was doing.

The surprise was his. Quatre dropped one hand from the back of his head, running it down his side while the other pulled him into a passionate kiss. Trowa had no resistance to offer. His lips parted as Quatre’s tongue demanded entry.

His brain hummed, hardly able to comprehend what they were doing. He barely registered the music as Quatre’s kiss flooded his senses, their tongues reacquainting with each other. Every inch of their bodies pressed against each other and Quatre claimed him as his with a single kiss. Trowa surrendered to it. Whether they were together or not, he would always be Quatre’s.

His kiss was hot, demanding, possessing. It reminded him of exactly why placing the family company in his hands had been a wise decision by his father. Quatre was relentless when he needed to be...or wanted to be.

After what seemed like forever, they broke apart, pulling much-needed air into their lungs. He looked into Quatre’s eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or regret. To his pleasure and his fear, he saw desire and the iron resolve of someone who knew exactly what they wanted. Trowa grabbed Quatre’s hand and led him off the dance floor. He’d figure out just how bad an idea this was later. Right now he needed to be alone with a certain blonde haired, blue eyed CEO.

***

Quatre felt like his whole body was buzzing. This was the best he’d felt his entire life. Music was everywhere. It was in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the air! It was in him, in everyone around him, and in Trowa. Music was flowing out of everybody and they all seemed to have their own melody, theme, and cadence. Everyone’s song was different and yet similar enough that they created a grand symphony together.

And the music coming from Trowa was the most beautiful of them all. Slow and contemplative at first, with lazy whole notes and meandering quarter notes before gradually evolving into sweet runs and playful trills.

Trowa’s hand in his felt like a springtime sunshine that comes out after a hard rain. Kissing him felt like Christmas fireworks going off inside his brain. He needed more, needed him like he needed air.

He was more than happy to follow as Trowa guided them through the press of people on the dance floor. He wasn’t close enough though. He needed to feel their bodies against each other, needed Trowa’s strong arms around him, needed his sinful tongue battling with his, needed his hard length against his.

The door offered only slight resistance before giving way to deposit them on the storefront walkway. The air outside was chilly with a taste of autumn coming, even as the lazy summer night clung at its edges. A slight breeze pulled at his shirt. Quatre felt the beads of sweat on his back dry instantly, sending a shiver up his spine and raising goosebumps on his arms.

He looked around. Everything he felt, everything he saw, was clear and sharp. It was as if he was awake for the first time in his life, truly seeing things for what they were.

Trowa flagged down a taxi with one hand. The other stayed firmly entwined with his. Quatre looked down at their hands. The music that came from their connection was elegant, full of light and warmth. Full of safety. He was always safe with Trowa.

He looked up into Trowa’s face. Standing on the side of the street, the bright lights of San Francisco painted the sharp lines of his body in relief. The effect stole the air from his lungs, making it difficult to breathe. Trowa looked down at him, their eyes catching, and smiled. And just like that, he could breathe again. Without even a word, Trowa had stolen his breath with the same ease that he’d stolen his heart all those years ago, and, though he still held his heart, he’d immediately breathed life back into him.

Slowly, he closed the distance between them until their bodies were once again pressed against each other. Trowa met him halfway as they kissed, lazy and unhurried. He felt Trowa wrap an arm around his waist, hugging him close as he lovingly ran a thumb across his cheek. Warmth rushed through his body from his toes to the hair on his head that blew in the breeze.

They stood there for what felt like ages. At that moment, all the world was right.

Trowa pressed in closer, pushing him back a step, and pressing his hard length against his own. The friction lit fireworks inside him, reminding him why they had left the bar in the first place. A different kind of warmth, this one filled with desire, began to simmer deep inside. He needed Trowa closer, deeper.

He kissed Trowa harder and his hands began roaming Trowa’s lithe body, traveling lower until he reached the lip of his slacks. Trowa found his hands and held them still. His warm chuckle sent a tremor through his body. “We’re still on the sidewalk,” Trowa warned him.

“So do something about it,” he whispered. His voice sounded smoky, wrapping itself around the two of them as he trailed kisses from Trowa’s chin, across his hard jaw, and down his neck. He pressed himself tight against Trowa as the guy leaned forward, waving down another cab.

The first was long gone.

“We actually need to get in this one,” Trowa told him. The words turned into a jumbled mess in his head as Trowa leaned down and took his mouth. The force of it took him by surprise. Trowa’s kisses were hard and unyielding, demanding surrender. He gave it.

His brain, so full of everything that was Trowa, barely registered the taxi pull up behind him. Trowa forced him backward enough to be able to lean over him and open the door. And then they were kissing once more and again Trowa was forcing him backward. They broke apart only long enough to duck inside the taxi. Quatre gave the driver directions as Trowa followed him in and then it was once again as if they were the only two people in the world. Trowa’s kisses were demanding and forceful. His were willing and hungry. Trowa’s tongue hot and needy against his.

Trowa positioned himself between his legs and leaned forward until he was laying on his back. The fabric of the car seat was scratchy, even against his shirt. He disliked cabs for that reason. They were always scratchy. This time, he didn’t even care. Reluctantly, he broke their kiss and gasped, pulling much-needed air in his lungs. He could feel the old scar tissue on his injured lung protest. He ignored it.

Trowa’s lips were pressing against his neck, his tongue flicking and dragging tantalizingly against his flushed skin. Trowa’s hand traveled down his side, over his hip, and cupped his thigh, right behind his knee as he pressed into him. Quatre groaned. If they didn’t still have their clothes on, Trowa would be able to press inside him easily from this position. Somewhere he desperately needed him.

Trowa chuckled. The sound was delicious. Deep and warm like chocolate. He shivered and rolled his hips against Trowa’s in response. The pressure of his erection, trapped behind fitted Hugo Boss, grating against Trowa’s own hard-on caused him to groan in frustration. His wasn’t the only one he heard either. He smiled. That seemed to have stolen some of Trowa’s bluster. Even from the bottom, he could still negotiate.

“Concentrer, Trowa,” he taunted in French. Trowa groaned again, hot breath dusting across his flushed skin. Trowa had a tendency to melt when he spoke French. Trowa nuzzled his shoulder before biting down gently. His back arched reactively, pressing their hips and erections against each other again. He yelped in surprise and arousal. Dear God, his dick hurt! He desperately needed Trowa’s mouth around it. Or his hand. Whichever.

Quatre tipped his head back and moaned. His eyes fluttered shut as he tangled a hand in Trowa’s hair. “J'ai besoin de toi, Trowa. S'il te plaît prends moi.” His voice was strained, desperate.

Trowa paused in his ministrations and looked down at him. “You know I understood absolutely none of that, right?” He sounded as breathless as he was.

Quatre opened his eyes and propped himself up with his free arm against the seat. Trowa looked absolutely delectable, leaning over him like that, disheveled and his hair all mussed up, and his hand still holding onto those caramel colored locks. “Do you even care?” he asked between gasps.

Trowa seemed to pause in thought for a moment. “Not really,” he replied before claiming his mouth again. He answered in kind, countering Trowa’s tongue with his. They fought, heavy and hard, vying for dominance. He might want Trowa to make him beg, but the guy was going to have to work for it.

***

Damn, he was a livewire tonight!

Quatre’s frenetic energy surprised him, though he certainly wasn’t complaining. They moved together with comfortable familiarity. Quatre filled his senses. His smell, his touch, his taste, his sounds...threatened to overwhelm what was left of his own ability to think properly. Just as he knew all Quatre’s most sensitive places, his favorite ways of being touched, Quatre knew too just what would drive him wild.

And God, what Quatre speaking French did to him! It sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and left his dick throbbing. Whatever he’d said, Trowa was certain it wasn’t something that should be said in public. His tongue might be halfway down Quatre’s throat, demanding submission, but they were still very much in a taxi and not alone.

As much as he wanted to peel Quatre’s clothes off, throw them on the floor, and make love to him, he needed to keep control of himself until they made it to the hotel room. One of them had to anyway and it sure seemed like that wasn’t going to be Quatre. Not tonight.

An uncomfortable clearing of the throat sounded from the front, causing him to pull away from Quatre enough so he could look up. He saw his reflection in the rearview mirror. His eyes were wide and almost all pupil, his hair was standing up at odd angles, looking very much as if he’d just been sexed. It was a near enough thing, anyway. His black tie had pulled loose and his white button-up had come partially undone. He wasn’t sure when that had happened.

He caught the driver’s eyes through the mirror. They looked rather annoyed, though hardly surprised. “We’re here,” he said with a heavy accent. Middle Eastern of some sort he guessed.

Quatre squirmed beneath him. Legs still straddling his hips, Quatre reached up and grabbed his dangling tie, using it to pull himself up into a sitting position against him. Quatre’s face, along with his own very much tousled hair, joined his in the mirror and smiled at the eyes, looking not at all embarrassed or remorseful. “Bebakhshid.”

The hair at the back of his neck prickled as Quatre said whatever it was to the man. Either Arabic or Farsi. He wasn’t sure which. Even after all these years, he had trouble distinguishing them. He felt Quatre’s hands roaming his body as he pressed against him, planting slow kisses against his neck. In spite of their cab driver glaring at him, he groaned.

Quatre chuckled. The sound was warm and thick. “Go on and pay the man,” Quatre prompted.

That was a little difficult because Quatre was now nibbling on his ear. His whole body tingled in response and his brain threatened to stop working. “Back Pocket. Right side.” Quatre’s voice cut through the haze.

He pulled his head away from Quatre as he tried to focus. “You aren’t making it easy,” he told him as he reached his long fingers into Quatre’s back pocket. Thankfully, the wallet came out without too much maneuvering.

“Vous, pauvre chose.”

He sighed in exasperation. Now he was just being facetious. Flipping through Quatre’s wallet all he saw were hundreds. The fare was less than twenty dollars, including a sizeable tip. Really? Hadn’t he had the forethought to at least break one of them?

“Just give him one and be done with it, Trowa. We have better things to do than stay in this cab all night,” Quatre purred in his ear. “Besides, it’s the least we can do.” That sounded more like typical Quatre. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled one out and handed it to the driver with a distracted thank you. Quatre was occupying himself on his neck again.

“At some point,” he told Quatre as he pulled himself into a sitting position, “We’re going to have to talk about your sudden propensity for exhibitionism.” Still straddling his hips, Quatre wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. This was certainly not helping them get out of their annoyed cabbie's car.

Quatre leaned back just enough to look in his eyes. “Are you really complaining?” he asked with a mischievous sparkle in his eye. Fuck. They really needed to get out of the car. Relief rushed through him as his hand finally found what he’d been searching for. With a quick pull, the door popped open.

“Only if it gets in the way of the hotel room,” he replied as he backed out and onto the sidewalk. Rain started to sprinkle on him as he stood up to his full height. The wind had picked up and whipped his shirt about violently. The chill air sent a shiver down his spine, reminding him that he’d left his coat at the bar, along with Quatre’s blazer.

He pulled out his phone and sent Duo a quick text. He got an immediate response. Duo had them. Perfect. “Duo has your blazer,” he told him as Quatre joined him on the sidewalk.

“That’s good,” Quatre replied as he pressed himself against him. One hand pressed teasingly across the bulge underneath his pants. His eyes drifted closed as a moan escaped his lips. A quick yank on his tie pulled him into a kiss. Quatre’s mouth was hot, like the rest of him tonight. His tongue was confident and commanding. Trowa had no will or desire to resist.

Just as quickly as he’d started, Quatre stopped and pulled away. At the very least, Trowa was glad that he wasn’t the only one who was breathless. Quatre looked into his eyes. “Take me to bed, Trowa,” he whispered.

His breath caught at that. Every inch of his body prickled with excitement, promise, need. In a sudden movement, he pulled Quatre against him once more and kissed him hard. Quatre opened willingly, his tongue testing, teasing in response to Trowa’s own demand of submission.

When he relinquished his hold on Quatre’s mouth, the rain had begun to fall harder. “Come on,” he said as he draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in tight against him. By the time they reached the doors to the hotel, they were both sufficiently wet, though not completely soaked. Trowa caught more than one pair of eyes watch them knowingly, and some appreciatively, as they passed. Quatre seemed not to notice. He smiled. He never got tired of the envious looks thrown their way when they were together. They always had been a handsome pair.

Almost shockingly, Quatre behaved himself and refrained from doing anything scandalous as they walked down the hall toward the elevators. Trowa pressed the up button and felt Quatre turn into him. A hand slipped around his waist and drop suggestively on his hip while the Quatre’s other hand worked at the remaining buttons keeping his shirt closed.

“There are still people in the lobby behind us,” he warned quietly.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate some eye candy,” Quatre replied before scraping his teeth against his ear. “Montrez-leur ce qu'ils ne peuvent avoir.”

He moaned and Quatre’s laugh was soft. The sound almost turned him inside out. An unexpected shiver ran through him as Quatre flicked his tongue across the edge of his jaw. His knees nearly buckled. Fuck! The guy was going to do him in before they even got to the room.

The elevator mercifully chimed open. Trowa quickly stepped in with Quatre following close behind. A press of a button and the elevator closed. They were alone as the elevator slowly made its ascent.

Which was oh so perfect.

He strode forward, forcing Quatre’s back against the wall. They stood there for a moment, bodies so close as they caught their breath. Quatre looked almost bashful against the back of the elevator as he slowly unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

Trowa reached out slowly, caressing his cheek. He dipped his head, pressing his lips against Quatre’s, gently, carefully. Quatre opened reflexively and leaned in. He was offering him an invitation and he took it, deepening his slow, deliberate kisses. Quatre’s hands grazed across his abdomen. His fingers were light, almost ticklish, like sunshine. He smiled on the inside, even as his tongue continued to roam. Quatre was sunshine. On so many levels.

He picked Quatre up, eliciting a surprised gasp from him. The sound was swallowed as he once again claimed Quatre’s mouth for himself. Naturally, Quatre’s legs wrapped around his waist for support as he countered Trowa’s hungry tongue with his own. His need was just as strong as his. He could feel it. Taste it. A hand ran through his hair while the other held onto his arm for support.

Their kiss broke apart as Quatre leaned his head back against the wall. His gasps turned into moans as Trowa lowered his head and kissed his neck, flicking his hot tongue over the sensitive skin there. Quatre arched his back, pressing their hips together. The hand in his hair tightened. It sent electricity coursing from his head to his dick. He needed Quatre on a bed, begging for him.

“Trowa.” Quatre moaned his name. The sound was sweet and needy.

The doors opened and he set Quatre back down on his own feet. Quatre was a little weak in the knees because he needed to hold on to him for support for a few moments before he got his strength back. “You alright?” he asked.

Quatre chuckled breathlessly. “It seems you have an effect on me,” he replied with a smile.

Trowa looked down at him. Those big eyes of his were bright and untroubled. As if nothing in the world was complicated. As if _they_ weren’t complicated. “God, I love you,” he said quietly. It slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it and he knew he should care that he had. But the only thing that mattered right now was that Quatre was here, in his arms.

“I love you too.” Quatre’s voice was just as soft as his, barely audible. It was as if they were sharing some secret. Something just between them. Slowly, he reached for Quatre, who met him halfway. His hand brushed across Quatre’s cheek as they pressed against each other, unwilling to be apart. They’d been apart long enough.

The elevator dinged and he had to be quick in order to put his hand in front of the doors so they wouldn’t close again. “We really need to get out of this elevator,” he said between kisses.

“Duo’s going to be in my room.”

He’d almost forgotten about that. Duo and Hilde had the honeymoon suite, but not until tomorrow. Hilde and all the other girls in the bridal party were camped out in one large room. The guys, on the other hand, had not been as interested in a slumber party and had gotten separate rooms, except Duo. Quatre had been more than willing to bunk with Duo for the night.

Quatre was already ahead of him though, suggestively sliding his hand down Trowa’s front pocket and pulling out his room card.

Trowa took a step back, keeping the door open as Quatre led the way to the room. Close to Heero and Wufei’s, Quatre was the only one of the Gundam pilots who had a room clear on the other end of the hallway. “That wasn’t intentional was it?” he asked, reaching for Quatre’s hand. He tried to keep the affront out of his voice but wasn’t entirely successful. He heard it and he knew Quatre had too.

“It’s not stadium seating, Trowa. I wasn’t able to choose my room. I took what they gave me.” When they reached his room, Quatre looked down both ends of the hallway, seeing no one in sight, before key carding them in.

“And this isn’t espionage, 007. Think someone’s going to jump out of nowhere and keep you from getting into my room?”

Quatre paused and turned towards him as he shut the door. “You’re a little mouthy tonight.”

Trowa closed the distance between them. “You’re a little brazen tonight,” he countered, taking the key card from Quatre’s hand and tossing it dismissively on the TV stand.

Their lips met and Quatre skimmed his hands over his stomach. The remaining button of his shirt practically freed itself. Up Quatre’s hands came, dusting over his chest, across his shoulders, and down his arms, helping him shed his shirt.

He stepped forward as the fabric fell at their feet, guiding Quatre backward toward the bed. When the back of Quatre’s knees hit the edge of the mattress, inertia took care of the rest. Quatre only half-muffled his yelp of surprise, snapping his mouth shut as quickly as he’d opened it. Quatre had always been modest. The last thing he’d want was for anyone to know was he was getting laid. By his ex no less.

Trowa chuckled as he leaned over him. “Why are you _always_ surprised when that happens,” he asked.

“Shut up,” Quatre told him, right before he wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. In one easy motion, Trowa helped Quatre shift completely onto the bed. Kissing wasn’t exactly easy when one of you were almost bent over backward.

“Every time.”

“Shut up.”

Trowa couldn’t stop the soft laughter that came bubbling out of him as he began trailing kisses down Quatre’s neck. One hand worked on the buttons of Quatre’s own shirt while the other massaged the hard line under Quatre’s slacks.

Quatre’s eyes were half closed in pleasure as he trailed lazy kisses down his exposed chest. He found the sensitive spot between his ribcage and his bellybutton and spent some time there. Kissing, sucking, flicking his tongue over his skin. Quatre’s breathing hitched. He gasped and arched his back. He felt Quatre’s erection underneath his slacks scrape against his abdomen. He bit back the moan that formed in his throat. Quatre’s hands tightened their grip on his hair. The sharp pull shot pinpricks dancing across his skin.

Quatre’s moans were plaintive and needy. He smiled, his lips dusting across Quatre’s skin. He loved that sound. Quatre’s hands pushed on his head, urging him downward. Trowa nipped, his teeth scraping across Quatre’s soft skin, eliciting another gasp, another thrust of his hips.

He chuckled. “Not so in charge, are you?” he asked as his hands quickly worked to loosen Quatre’s belt. After that, his pants were easy to open, revealing a glimpse of light blue boxers that matched the guy’s shirt. Of course, they’d match. Typical Quatre.

“Trowa.”

He paused, hands right about to free Quatre from his pants. That sound wasn’t right. That voice was hesitant, even a bit fearful. He looked up. Quatre stared down at him, wide-eyed and shocked as if he were surprised at what they were doing.

In a sudden flurry of motion, Quatre released the grip on his hair and launched himself off the bed. “I gotta go,” he said as he zipped his pants back up and simultaneously fastening his belt while slipping into his shoes. “This was a bad idea.”

His brain was desperately trying to catch up. Just a moment ago they had been in the throes of passion. Now Quatre was leaving. Something had changed, in the course of an instant. Something had to have changed.

“Quatre, wait!” He called after him. He needed to make sense of this. “What happened? Let’s talk about this!”

Already halfway to the door, Quatre paused and half turned to face him. He was so eager to get out the door that he hadn’t even bothered to button his shirt back up. His wallet was in one hand, the key card to his own room in the other. Their eyes met. Quatre’s were genuinely regretful, pained, with a hint of wishful thinking. “I’m sorry, Trowa,” he said softly. “I just can’t.”

Sitting on his knees, alone on the bed, shirtless, he stared blankly as Quatre turned and left. The door clicked closed with a soft finality that echoed far louder. He sighed and allowed himself to flop forward with a groan of frustration.

***

Quatre closed the door slowly, trying very hard not to wake up Duo.

“Nice try, little buddy.”

Duo’s voice, very much alert, caused him to wince and drop his head. He stopped dead in his tracks, hand still on the door handle. With a steadying sigh, he looked up at his friend, guilt written all over his face. He felt like a teenager who had just got caught coming home after curfew.

If the guy had been laying down before, he wasn’t now. The blankets had pooled around his waist as he sat on the bed, arms resting casually on his tented knees. “Whatchya doin?” Duo asked. He could hear the sly lilt in his voice. Duo knew exactly what he was doing.

He leveled what he hoped would pass for an annoyed expression at him. Apparently, it didn’t work. Duo’s impish grin faded as he picked up on his mood. “Which one of you?” he asked.

“Just drop it, Duo,” he said quietly as he walked over to his suitcase. He’d set out his pajama pants before he’d left earlier. He grabbed them and headed into the bathroom to change.

“You okay?” Duo asked as he walked past. “What happened?”

He gave Duo a scornful expression before shutting the door behind him. Did he really want to talk about it? No, not really. _Should_ he talk about it? Probably. The voice in his head was unexpectedly, albeit thankfully, quiet. At least he wasn’t going to have to argue with himself, he thought as he took off his shirt and changed into his pajama pants.

He could feel Duo watching him as he stalked back to his suitcase and traded his discarded clothes for a spare shirt, a cardinal red with the MIT equation on it. Duo was still staring at him when he turned back around. “Are you seriously just going to stare at me like that?” he asked in irritation as he forcefully pulled his shirt on.

“What happened, Quatre?”

He looked at Duo for a moment and let out a huff of frustration. “I bailed.”

“I can see that.”

He threw Duo another annoyed glare, but it didn’t last. He walked over and climbed onto his side of the bed. He stared at the comforter he was sitting on. “It shouldn’t have happened, Duo. None of it,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” The guy seemed rather unperturbed by his friends’ actions.

He snapped his head back up. “We broke up, Duo!”

Duo, in turn, looked at him as if he were dense. “And you two both still care about each other! You were all over each other at the club. No one’s shocked you came back to the hotel together, not that we were far behind you guys, but that’s beside the point.”

“Duo…”

“The point is,” Duo said, cutting him off. “Is that you guys still have feelings each other. Tonight was Class A proof, so what’s the problem?”

Quatre opened his mouth, then shut it just as fast. He looked back down at the bed, staring at its quilted patterns. He couldn’t tell Duo he’d been high. There was no way he’d been able to be comfortable around Trowa if he hadn’t been. He certainly wouldn’t have been so bold as to make a move on him. Trowa had left him, not the other way around.

Their breakup, though difficult and reluctant, had happened out of good intentions. At the time, they’d both known they still cared for each other, but that hadn’t been enough for Trowa to stay. The split had also resurrected fears about the validity of their relationship he’d long thought he’d overcome. They’d spent so many months with Dr. Farlan combating his damned guilty conscience and his issues of self-worth he’d developed. Between the self-doubt and the blow to his confidence, there was no way he would have been so out of his mind that he’d make a move on his ex.

Except he’d been high.

He’d felt, to some degree, connected to everyone in the club, so when Trowa had shown up...Damn his heart, but he’d never stopped loving Trowa, so when he’d walked up there had been no inhibitions keeping his feelings to himself. Nothing had phased him. The past hadn’t mattered. All that mattered was that he’d felt great. Trowa was there and seemed to reciprocate, so what the hell.

Everything after that sort of flew by in his memory. He remembered all of it, unfortunately, and sure, it was fun while it lasted, but as soon as he’d come down everything came rushing back. All his insecurities, all their history, and everything that had happened in the last six months became relevant information again. His common sense had returned and he realized what a mistake they had been about to make.

Trowa had left for a reason. Nothing about their situation had changed since then, so how could he possibly expect Trowa to come back? The answer was that he couldn’t. Trowa wasn’t coming back. After the weekend was over he’d be going back to Boston alone.

Neither of them was the type to play games and he wasn’t the type to just go home with someone, Trowa or anyone else. If he’d stayed, if they’d spent the night together, it would have carried expectations. As much as he wanted Trowa back, he couldn’t trap him like that. That wouldn’t have been fair. Not to Trowa.

So he’d bailed.

Any explanation for that would have to include a reason for his behavior considering how out of character he’d acted.

Duo wouldn’t judge him. He knew that. Out of anyone, he would be the most likely to be sympathetic rather than upset. Even so, he couldn’t tell him he’d taken anything. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear. Either way, it didn’t matter. Telling him or not telling him would yield the same results. He saw no benefit to telling Duo. So he wouldn’t.

“It was a mistake. Leave it at that.”

“That’s a bullshit answer and you know it.”

“Oh my God, Duo! Just drop it,” he said in exasperation as he flopped over on his back and covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. It was almost three in the morning. He did not want to have this argument.

Duo shifted, laying down on his side, facing him, seeming unphased by his outburst. “It _is_ a bullshit answer and you _do_ know it.”

Quatre let his arms fall to his sides. He looked over at his friend. “Nothing’s changed, Duo,” he said, rolling onto his side, mirroring his temporary roommate. Duo’s big dark blue eyes seemed to look straight through him. He sighed. “Literally nothing is different since March. He’s not going to walk back into the same situation he just left.” He tucked an arm under his head. He glanced away for a second before looking back at Duo and shrugged. “It’s a wedding weekend. People don’t like to be alone at weddings.”

Duo was still staring at him with an unconvinced expression.

“You don’t look satisfied,” he said flatly.

“Quatre, you guys were…”

“All over each other,” he finished. “I know.” Duo shut his mouth, looking as if he’d finally gotten his point across. “We let ourselves get sucked in, but do you really think it’s a good idea to go around sleeping with your ex when you know they aren’t coming back?” Quatre dropped his eyes back to the bed. The weight of what happened was finally beginning to settle over him.

He and Trowa had danced together and not just like he was pseudo-teaching him either. It had been the fucking tango of all things. If that wasn’t suggestive, he didn’t know what was. His stomach felt like it was being squeezed and his heart felt like a black hole, sucking everything into a void until there was nothing left. He tried to push away the blanket of darkness that once again threatened to wrap itself around him.

He pulled his eyes back up to Duo’s. His friend sighed and gave him a look that said he was being stubborn. He was, but he was also right. He needed Duo to understand that. “He was my first boyfriend, Duo. He was the first, and to date the _only_ , person I’ve had sex with. I can’t wrap my head around the idea of sleeping with anyone and have it _not_ mean anything. How does an act like that not have strings attached?” Looking at Duo, his friend didn’t have an answer to that.

He shook his head and looked back down. He could feel himself tearing up and the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Duo on the eve of his wedding. He took a steadying breath. “I can’t sleep with him one night and have it not be weird the next day. Not when we’re all friends and not with it being your wedding tomorrow. It’ll be weird enough already, but at least it didn’t go so far as to have a big question mark of expectations dangling over our heads.”

“You’re just as stubborn as Heero.”

Sheepishly, he looked back up at Duo. His friend looked slightly annoyed with him, but then he closed those dark blue eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, all that was left was a sympathetic friend. Duo lifted his side of the covers in invitation.

Quatre’s heart felt like it was tearing itself to pieces, probably for the thousandth time since Trowa had left. He hated being alone. Tomorrow would be rough, during the day and the night. Duo pulled him into his arms as he joined him under the covers. He tucked his head into Duo’s shoulder as the guy began telling him a funny story about something Hilde had done last week. A distraction. He was grateful to have such a good friend and his heart was comforted by the fact that, at least for tonight, he wasn’t alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Trowa and Heero were already finishing their breakfast when a groggy Wufei walked into the dining area of the hotel. Like most everyone else, he’d drunk a bit too much last night. It was already noon and they’d missed breakfast. Heero had neither asked about last night nor about Quatre’s current absence from his side. He was not as lucky with Wufei however.

“Where’s Quatre?”

They both looked at their friend as he sat down. Heero with feigned uninterest, himself with unbridled annoyance. “Probably still in his room, I would assume.”

Wufei, who had begun to peruse the restaurant's menu, peeked over the top of the laminated paper. “You didn’t?” He sounded skeptical.

Did he really need to spell it out? “No, we didn’t,” he answered flatly.

“Well that’s surprising,” Wufei said sedately before returning his attention to the menu.

“They weren’t behind you?” Heero asked Wufei. Even with a late night, they should have been up by now.

“No. I didn’t see anyone until I got here, not even the girls. They walk around in flocks. I would have thought I’d see at least some of them.”

“They’re out getting done up,” Trowa told him.

Wufei looked at him. “That takes two hours?”

“For a wedding it does.”

Heero looked at him, ignoring the discussion on women and their propensity to take forever. “We’re going to have to get them up,” he said. He knew Heero was right, but something inside of him shirked away from the thought.

Duo had texted him, a little after three in the morning, letting him know that he had Quatre. That had been a relief. Not that he’d expected Quatre to go somewhere and disappear or anything, but still. Ever since the PTSD and the depression, they’d all kept at least one eye on him. He’d been appreciative that Duo had one, been there for Quatre in the first place and two, had let him know that the guy was somewhere safe.

Quatre had been a whirlwind last night which was highly out of character. Perhaps it had been the stress. Everyone needed to let off steam every now and then and Quatre was always tightly wound these days. He’d been right last week when he’d told Quatre he needed a night off. Last night wasn’t exactly what he’d expected though. He couldn’t help but feel more than a little guilty for putting him in that situation to begin with.

He’d started it all by asking Quatre to dance in Duo’s garage bay and then Quatre had gone and asked him to dance last night. One thing had led to another and their feelings had bubbled to the surface. Dancing had turned into kissing and kissing had led toward other things.

But then, like a switch, Quatre had dug his heels in and put down a full stop. Straight from green light to red. No explanation. Not that Quatre owed him one. It didn’t work like that. It did, however, concern him more than a little. Duo’s text had relieved some of his fears last night, but there had been no follow up on whether Quatre was emotionally okay or not.

Regardless, Heero was right. It was noon. They needed to get lunch and get ready. They all should have been up by now.

“At least we hadn’t started yet, “ Wufei commented regretfully as they all left the table.

A quick elevator ride and a short walk down the hall and they were all standing outside Quatre’s door. Trowa knocked and the door swung open ever so slightly. A moment of panic gripped him. A multitude of worst-case scenarios played through his head. Holding his breath, mentally preparing himself for what he might find or not find, he pushed the door open.

Quatre and Duo were cuddled together. Both laying on their sides, facing each other. Quatre, in his red MIT shirt and sheep dotted pajamas, had his head tucked against Duo’s chest. Duo, clad in boxers and a heavy metal t-shirt, had a leg draped over Quatre’s hip while his free-flowing hair took up just about as much room as he did himself.

“Well that’s cute,” Heero deadpanned beside him. A mechanical click behind them caused them both to turn around. Wufei had his phone out.

“What are you doing?” Trowa asked.

“Blackmail,” Wufei answered simply.

Trowa shook his head. He looked down at Heero. “You should probably be the one to wake them up. I doubt I’m the person Quatre wants to see first thing in the morning.” Heero gave him a look that said they needed to figure their shit out. He didn’t need to say it. They had known each other long enough to read each other without words.

Heero threw him one more glance before walking over and pulled the covers away from their sleeping friends. Heero whacked Duo upside the head. “Come on, wake up.” Duo, seemingly just as surprised by Heero’s voice in his ear as the sudden loss of warm blankets, startled with a yell that woke up Quatre who also had a few choice words. It was in French, so it was anyone’s guess exactly what he was saying, but his tone made the connotation clear.

“That was predictable” Wufei deadpanned, watching from the doorway. Trowa stepped back and to the side, leaning against the wall on Wufei’s left and away from the door. Wufei looked at him. “What are _you_ doing?”

Trowa crossed his arms and looked down at him. “I’m already in hot water, I’m not getting blamed for that,” he said, with a motion towards the room on the other side of the wall.

“You know I have a panic disorder, right?” They heard Quatre’s cranky voice accuse Heero. Wufei looked back at Trowa after peeking into the room.

“Fair point.”

“It’s noon. Let’s go.” Heero’s voice precipitated another whacking sound followed by another slew of curses, this time from Duo.

A moment later Heero strolled out of the room, hands resting casually in his pockets. “They’re up,” he said as he walked past, leading the way back toward to elevator. Duo could still be heard muttering curses under his breath as he began getting around. Neither he nor Wufei could keep themselves from smirking just a little as they too moved back toward the elevator.

As they left, Quatre’s voice also filtered into the hall. Something about how they really should have been ready by now. His voice, sweet like honey and clear like glass, caused him to pause. He half turned, staring at the doorway that was still open. A pang of regret gripped his heart like a vice. Duo should have bunked with someone else. He should have been the one in Quatre’s bed last night and not as a one night fling either.

“Trowa,” Heero’s voice, commanding yet gentle, brought him back to focus.

Six months. He’d left Quatre six months ago. He still believed it was the correct decision. Quatre’s improving work, both professionally and scholarly, supported his theory. But Trowa missed him and Quatre obviously felt the same way. Last night happened because he hadn’t been resolute. It was Duo’s garage all over again. Regardless of the fact that Duo had tried to play matchmaker and get them back together last night, this was not the time to chase after him. Quatre had to finish his work and to do that, Trowa had to stay out of his way.

He turned back around and joined his friends. Even Wufei looked sympathetic as he walked past. He and Heero stood beside each other, behind Wufei as the guy pressed the lower level button. A mirror image of each other with their hands in their pockets, “Not a word,” he told Heero as the doors closed.

***  
Duo sat in front of him on the floor while he sat on the edge of the bed. It was only slightly awkward. Sitting anywhere else like the desk chair didn’t offer nearly enough space to get the job done. “You know you’re a gay stereotype right now, right?” Duo told him. His voice was teasing and content as Quatre collected Duo’s silky long hair in strands, twisting them into a central curl to make a loose, cascading braid effect.

“Shut up,” he replied with a smile. “I had a lot of sisters.”

Duo had music playing from his phone. Most of the songs he knew and all were variations of sappy love songs in some form or another. It was hard not to sing along and after a while, he was doing so softly.

“Still shocked you don’t sing more than you do,” Duo commented as Quatre put a pin in place and started another twist. He tipped his head to the side, looking at Duo for a moment. The guy had his eyes closed, his head bowed ever so slightly to give him better access to the lower part of his hair. Guy looked like he was enjoying the treatment.

He went back to focusing on his work. Duo could sing pretty well too. They had spent almost three hours harmonizing together during their drive from Naples to Rome on the Italy trip, much to Wufei and Heero's annoyance.

“I prefer to play.”

“Ever thought of doing that instead of what you're doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Duo shrugged underneath him. “I mean, I know you don’t like being center of attention and your father died and left the company to you and all,” he said delicately, “But if you enjoy it so much, why not do that instead of what you’re doing?”

“You mean, like orchestra or something?”

“Yeah.”

It was his turn to shrug. “Music is…” He trailed off, pausing mid-motion and looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “A safe place, I suppose,” he explained, focusing again on Duo’s hair. “It relaxes me. Always has. I don’t think I could do it for a paycheck.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

“Why do you ask?”

Duo tipped his head back until their eyes met. “Because you’re really good at it and maybe you wouldn’t be as stressed out all the time.”

His smile went up to his ears and crinkled his nose. He loved Duo. The guy was about as good a friend as you could hope to get. He bent over until his forehead touched Duo’s. They both closed their eyes. “I’m good at the other thing too.”

“I just don’t like seeing you so stressed. You’ve lost weight again.”

Quatre flinched. That was true. He’d noticed it too. He hadn’t eaten much this past week. His nerves had wrecked his stomach. That and he had a bad habit of forgetting to eat when he was preoccupied with work. “I’m fine,” he told him, sitting back up and nudging Duo back into position. “Besides, I like being the boss.” Duo huffed.

He finished Duo’s hair with a clear elastic band and gave it a gentle tug. “You’re done,” he said, backing off the opposite end of the bed and walked around to Duo’s side.

Duo watched him. “You going to be okay today?”

“And you tell me _I_ worry too much,” he said, holding out his hand, which Duo took and pulled him up off the floor.

“Just checking,” Duo replied. He checked his watch and grabbed his garment bag that housed his tux. “I’m going to go down with the rest of the guys.”

Quatre started getting his violin and his own garment bag together. “I’m right behind you,” he called after Duo as the guy started to walk out of the room. Duo paused in the doorway and gave him a pointed look. He felt Duo’s eyes on him and looked up from what he was doing. “Seriously,” he said. “I’m right behind you.”

“You’ll be okay?”

“You’re a mother hen, you know that?”

“Sometimes you need looking after,” his friend countered, holding his bag over his shoulder with one hand and leaning against the door frame with the other.

He straightened up, holding his arms out from his sides. “What exactly do you think is going to happen in the two minutes it’ll take me to follow you out the door?” Duo pushed off the doorframe and waved him off as he started to walk away.

Quatre finished getting his things together and placed them just outside the bathroom door before walking in and closing the door behind him. Quickly, he filled a small paper cup with water and downed his depression and anti-anxiety medication. After a brief moment of hesitation, he pulled out Blane’s pills and snapped one in half before throwing that back too.

“Let’s hope I’m mellower than last night,” he told his reflection before tossing the empty cup in the trash and leaving the hotel room, garment bag in one hand and violin in the other.

***

They’d just ordered the buffet for lunch when Quatre and Duo walked into the hotel restaurant. They were talking to each other with Duo saying something that involved waving his arms about while Quatre watched with a smile.

Duo was wearing his typical jeans, a dark t-shirt and that black leather jacket he always wore. Except for the fancier version of braid he was sporting today, he looked like the bad boy kind of guy who would be hustling a game of pool in a biker bar.

It was a stark contrast to the sophisticated uptown style Quatre was known for. Today he was sporting a light grey button-down, a black vest with pockets and subtle pinstripes, and those damn dark fitted jeans. Whereas Duo was animated, Quatre was reserved as he commented on something Duo had said, his hands half tucked into his jeans.

The view was enough to captivate him.

Damn the man, but he looked good. Like he was about to take a stroll along Madison Avenue. His posture was casual but confident. He was smiling and seemed to be in a bright mood despite the rude wake-up call Heero had given the two of them not that long ago.

“Good, you showed up,” Wufei said as the stragglers joined them.

“At least you’re in a good mood,” Duo quipped back.

“We got the buffet for everyone,” Trowa said. “So we better hurry. Our ride will be here in half an hour or so.”

“You gave the doorman your stuff?” Heero asked. Guy might not be the most sociable person in the world, but he knew how to complete a mission and he treated Duo’s wedding as exactly that. He wouldn’t let a single thing go wrong prior to the ceremony.

“He’s got everything,” Quatre confirmed as they moved as a group toward the food.

Trowa gently touched Quatre’s arm in a silent gesture for him to hold back. Quatre looked up at him as he slowed to a halt. He had that guilty look on his face he always got when he knew he’d done something wrong, though, thankfully, the flightiness from last night wasn’t there. He might feel bad about ditching him like he did, but he’d be standing by his decision. That much was apparent.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Quatre glanced back at the others ahead of them before looking back up at him. “Look, Trowa, I’m sorry. I…”

“I’ll live,” he replied, cutting him off. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. Duo didn’t elaborate last night.”

“Duo talked to you last night?” Quatre asked in surprise.

“Just a text saying you were back in your room with him.”

“I didn’t even know he’d texted you.”

“Quatre, focus. You’re missing the point.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but in what, four and a half years of dating and two of your sisters’ weddings you never danced like you did last night. Certainly not with me and I’ll admit I’m a bit disappointed in missing out.”

Quatre looked away and rolled his eyes before looking back up at Trowa in annoyance. “Is there a question in there?”

“There _was_ a question in there.”

Quatre started walking away from him and toward the food. “Is it really that surprising?” Quatre asked, half turning to him as he went.

He followed, giving Quatre a critical expression. “From you? A bit, actually.”

Quatre shrugged. “I’m a gay Arab in a house full of sisters. I did what they did. What do you want from me?”

“Just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Quatre paused and gave him a genuine smile, even if it was small. “I’m fine. Probably better than you were last night,” he said with a reactionary glance down at his pants before looking back up at him and turning around to catch up with the others.

Ouch.

Quatre: 2

He hung his head for a moment in defeat before making his way toward the rest of them. His worrying had apparently been for nothing. Quatre seemed to have recovered rather nicely from the night before.


End file.
